


More Than a Feeling

by ponderosa16



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Angst, Slow Burn, and a sprinkle of springles, eren is Edgy and Has Issues (TM), excessive use of 80s music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa16/pseuds/ponderosa16
Summary: Eren Jaeger was born in the wrong era - or at least, that’s what he thinks. Nostalgic for a past he never lived in, he spends his nights playing the best rock and roll hits with his band. But there’s more to Eren than his enthusiasm and love for his guitar named Lucy - troubled, angry and heartbroken, Eren’s music is his escape from a traumatic adolescence which left him orphaned and homeless.Levi Ackerman wishes he was young again. Almost thirty and still haunted by the ghosts of his past, he feels he might never catch up on lost time. A chance meeting in a bar leads him to an unusual acquaintance with the loud and mostly immature Eren - who ends up touching his heart more than he ever expected.Classic music, teen spirit, romance and camaraderie collide with a soundtrack that’ll rock you like a hurricane - and Eren and Levi are about to learn that true love is far more than a feeling.





	1. Rock Stars Always Land On Their Feet

**Author's Note:**

> GOOD GOLLY HERE IT IS
> 
> Months of planning, writing, rewriting... I finally decide to start posting this classic rock tribute disaster.
> 
> This fic means a great deal to me, so I won't waste words and just let you get on and read it - but I'm super glad you could join me on this particular adventure.
> 
> Strap yourselves in, folks!

In the days running up to band competitions, The 104th practice like our lives depend on it.

Responsibilities are long forgotten, stranded somewhere in the back of our minds like a discarded sock under the bed. We eat, sleep, _breathe_ the music, run on nothing but Redbull and pure rock for days on end, pretend we’ve got enough discipline to drag ourselves to a couple of lectures so we don’t get attendance warnings. Our laundry is unwashed, our beds unmade - hell, I remember one time Armin got so stressed he grew facial hair. But that’s a story for another time.

It’s a freezing Thursday in January, and this is the state I’m in when I stumble to the parking lot outside my class building. My friend Jean rolls down the window from the driver’s side, pressing his lips into a low whistle.

_“Yikes,_ Eren.”

When I slide into the passenger seat, he raises an eyebrow and takes a long look at my disheveled appearance.

“Looks like death tried to eat you and then spat you out because you tasted too bad.”

I rub my eyes, too exhausted for a proper comeback. “Gee, thanks.”

My name is Eren Jaeger. I’m one-quarter of The 104th - the most popular rock band at Trost University, if I do say so myself.

I’m the band’s lead guitarist and singer. I’m up there at the front, holding out the mic to the audience, jumping into the crowds against my better judgment. I’m turning nineteen in a few months’ time, I’m in my first year of college, and I’m trying to get a record deal and a psychology degree all in one. If I’m honest, I’m kinda grasping at straws for both of those.

The loser in the car next to me is our bassist, Jean Kirschtein. We met in high school. I kicked his ass in the cafeteria on the first day and we’ve somehow been friends ever since. Jean’s your typical wannabe - all stupid grins and self-aggrandisement and dyed blond hair - and while I mostly hate his guts, we keep each other on our toes in a lot of ways. He knows how to make me laugh until neither of us can breathe, and our drinking matches are nothing short of legendary. I’d never say it to his face, but it’s neat to have someone around who motivates you.

“Seriously,” he insists. “What even happened to you?”

I yawn into my hand. “All-nighter,” I sigh. “Had to finish an assignment. Would’ve done it sooner, but…”

I gesture loosely with my fingers to symbolise a guitar.

“Rock.”

Jean lifts one hand off the steering wheel to tug at my tousled hair.

“Jaegerbomb, all-nighters are only fun if you’re one, playing music,” he counts on his fingers, “or two, banging someone.”

I feel like slamming my head against the dashboard. I don’t realise I’ve physically rolled forwards until Jean places his hand on my shoulder to steady me.

“You gonna be okay?” Jean asks, his voice softer. “We can… skip, if you like. You can take a n—”

“No!” I protest, jolting back up. “No. We have to practice.”

Jean hums an affirmation. His hand goes back to the car, pushing down the handbrake and moving off. “Alright.”

We ride in silence for a little while, the everyday humming of the city of Trost passing by. It isn’t a huge place, but it’s big enough to mean there’s a good ten minutes between the centre of town and the outlying districts. It normally gives Jean and I plenty of time to set the world to rights.  
  
We stop at an intersection, and he smirks over at me.

“Saw Wings of Liberty’s practice last night. Marco invited me.”

Wings of Liberty are our ‘rival’ band, and I mean that as lightly as possible. They’re the only other band on campus with our kind of skill, and we delight at kicking each other’s asses in competitions - but that’s about as far as the rivalry goes. Most of us have been friends for years. Jean and their bassist Marco are practically inseparable.

“Oh yeah? How was that?”

Jean shrugs. “They’re doing a Fall Out Boy song.”

I tap my chin. “Lemme guess: _Sugar We’re Going Down?”_

With Sasha Braus and Connie Springer at the helm, Wings of Liberty made their name for supercharged, raw hyperactivity. Their bassist Marco and drummer Reiner are both pretty unassuming, but they pull their weight like nothing you’ve ever seen. With an emo-punk sound that contrasts our classic rock roots, they’re the only real threat to our top spot in Trost - but that’s just the way we like it.

Jean rolls his eyes at the thought of Fall Out Boy. “I mean, could they get any more predictable?”

I laugh a little. “It’s a good song.”

“Whatever,” Jean scoffs. “This is a Rock of AGES competition, Eren. That album came out like, last week.”

“Comin’ up on eleven years ago.”

“Like I said: last week.”

I smirk, and lean my head back against the seat.

“So what was Marco doing inviting you, anyway?” I ask, lifting a brow. “Isn’t that like, fatal? Sharing band secrets like that?”

Jean focuses on the road. “Dunno. Said he wanted to show me how it’s done.”

“Ooh. Bet you’d like that.”

Jean’s gaze snaps back to me, glaring. “Shut up, assface.”

I laugh raucously, and Jean growls and smacks my shoulder.

Here’s something you should know: Jean is hopelessly gay for Marco Bodt. They’ve known each other for years - almost as long as I’ve known my best buddy Armin - and since the first year of high school they’ve been stealing glances at each other and pining in secret. Jean refuses to admit it even when it’s staring him right in the face. I bet Mikasa $30 he’ll fess up this year, so I’ve got my fingers crossed.

Jean keeps talking, obviously trying to move the conversation along. “There’s a new band in town. Call themselves Crimson Arrow. People are saying they’re pretty damn good, won a top trophy in Ehrmich last summer.”

I blink. A chill runs through my veins - half anticipation, half trepidation. We haven’t had any other bands level us like Wings of Liberty since we formed.

“I’ve never heard the name. We know them?”

“Yep. Ymir, Historia, Bertholdt and Annie.”

“Annie?”

Jean nods, biting his lip. “Annie Leonhart, for sure.”

Annie’s not exactly a friend of ours.

We met her in middle school, and she was just about the quietest kid you could ever meet, second only to Armin. I offered to share my lunch with her when I saw her sitting alone, and we swapped yoghurts - her apricot for my strawberry. We fell into a routine - she’d hang around with me, Mikasa and Armin when she wasn’t with Reiner and Bertholdt. We had picnics in the park when the Shiganshina weather hit its balmy June peak, and I showed her the places Armin and I had made our dens in the western forests; we traded yoghurt and homework and Pokemon cards and giggled about our math teacher’s receding hairline. We went straight into the same tutorial class in high school. It was great, right up until when it wasn’t anymore.

We were in tenth grade when Annie suddenly decided to turn against us. It was the year my father died, so my head was full of all kinds of shit - but a few months after that Annie blocked our numbers and asked to switch away from us in every single class. I asked her why in gym once, but she said nothing and I ended up on my ass for my trouble. I thought better than to try pursuing that one again.

It hurt like hell. Annie’s father passed away not even two months before mine, so I always held out some vague hope that she’d want to talk about it. She never did.

I haven’t had apricot yoghurt since.

“What are they doing forming a band?” I ask Jean. “I didn’t even know they played.”

Jean shrugs again, shaking his head. “I have no idea. They didn’t make it into the competition, though. Missed by a hair’s breadth, according to Ymir.”

Both of us seem to breathe a sigh of relief. I open my mouth to mention Annie, but shut it sharply when I realise where we are. We roll into Jean’s front drive, where his mother’s waiting for us on the porch.

Jean technically lives on campus with the rest of us, even though his parents’ place is such a short drive away. He prefers it that way - his mom would drive him crazy otherwise, he says. I can’t help feeling envious that he has somewhere to come back to.

I hop out of the car and set about retrieving my guitar from the trunk.

“Hello, you two!” waves Mrs. Kirschtein, while Jean locks the car and grumbles something under his breath about her always waiting up. “Did you have a good day?”

Jean makes a soft apathetic ‘meh’ noise, but before he can bolt inside his mother grabs him by the arm and tugs him around to face her.

“Jeanbo,” says Mrs. Kirschtein.

“Mom,” says Jean.

“Did you have a good day?”

Jean groans. “Yes, Mom. It was fine. Can we go now?”

She lets him go, and gives me that trademark sunshine-smile of hers when he barges past, muttering.

“Hey, Mrs. K,” I say with a grin, sliding my arms through the straps of my guitar case to rest it on my back.

“Hello, dear,” Jean’s mom kindly returns. “Are you doing alright?”

I nod, not bothering to mention that I’d been awake all night. “Yeah, same old. Can’t wait for the competition, though.”

Mrs. K rubs her hands together and giggles. “Ooh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? The first competition of the semester! Do go inside, dear, Armin and Mikasa are waiting. I made some cookies that need eating—”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I zip inside ahead of her and make my way down the staircase to the basement without hesitation.

Jean’s parents’ basement is our headquarters. Mr and Mrs. K were overly generous in letting us decorate it - bending over backwards for Jean, as always - and we went kinda crazy.

The walls are still bare brick, but you can hardly see it from all the posters plastered over it. Mikasa and I raided all the thrift stores in the county to find them, and I spent a decent portion of the money I’d made working at Starbucks over the summer on eBay looking for signed copies. We’ve got three signed ones, framed: a promo poster from The Smiths’ _Live in London,_ 1986; the cover of Guns N’ Roses 1976 _Appetite for Destruction;_ and, to Mikasa’s absolute delight, signed typography from Bon Jovi’s _Slippery When Wet._ Together they cost me about $300, but… you know. Worth it.

The furnishings are pretty simple. Mikasa’s drum kit lives here, since there’s no room in the student accommodation for it. We’ve got a neon electric guitar on the west wall which lights up half red, half blue - Armin scouted that one out from a retro store in downtown Trost, the little genius.

There’s a red couch, too - second hand, fire engine red, the most ridiculous leather disaster you could ever imagine. It’s incredibly well-used, of course, the leather’s all cracked and torn and peeling off to reveal the flimsy sponge underneath, but we love it. It’s ours.

The rest of the place is decorated with whatever we could find. We’ve got a ‘fruit’ bowl made out of a vinyl record, all turned up at the edges. It can hardly be called a fruit bowl, since that’s never what’s in it - right now it’s housing those cookies Mrs. Kirschtein promised.

My absolute pride and joy in The 104th HQ is our record player. It’s not huge - just big enough to fill a medium-sized coffee table, and the teak wood exterior is plastered with stickers of band logos and slogans. The music sounds so much purer on that than played back electronically, filling up the whole room, so loud and raw and _real_ that you feel almost as if you can reach out and touch every note. It’s vintage, too, ‘79.

It was my father’s.

“Eren!”

Armin’s face lights up ridiculously when I open the basement door. Mikasa jumps up from her drum kit and rushes to greet me, hugging me like she hasn’t seen me in years.

“Whoa, Mikasa—”

“Eren, you never went to bed last night, did you?”

“Ugh—”

Mikasa is my sister. If you take a look at us you’ll quickly realise that we’re not biologically related, but my parents ended up adopting her after her folks passed away in a huge earthquake in Japan. She plays the drums like she was _born_ to, all passion and fire and energy and pure, unfiltered rock. To anyone else, her smoky eyeshadow and leather jackets might breed a sense of intimidation, but to us she’s our Mikasa, more often than not the glue that holds our band together. And she’s about as good at drumming as she is at kicking ass - I speak from experience.

Right now she’s pulling me up by the ear.

“Ow, Mikasa, seriously, I’m not your kid—”

“I messaged you six times!”

Jean snorts behind me. “You should listen to her, Eren. You look like dog shit.”

The temptation to whirl around and smack Jean is almost overwhelming.

“Mikasa, let him down, okay? We… we have to get started.”

That’s Armin Arlert, my best friend. He plays keyboard, synths, guitar when needed, and he’s crazy at music production. His bedroom’s a mess of wires, and when he’s not fiddling with his loop station or vintage Roland gear he’s reading classic literature in his little beanbag chair. He’s the definition of indie sweetheart, and if anyone laid a finger on him they’d have all three of us to answer to. Let’s just say that’s why he never gets bullied.

Mikasa pulls a face and releases my ear. Before I can make my defense case, Jean is cramming a cookie into my mouth.

“Macadamia nut,” he says. “Your favourite, right?”

I grasp the cookie and bite a chunk away, humming in appreciation as the sweetness melts on my tongue.

“Your mom is a genius, Jean,” I say, cookie pieces caught between my teeth. Jean rolls his eyes.

“Sometimes I think my mom likes you idiots more than she likes me.”

I jam the rest of the cookie in my mouth and unhook my guitar from my shoulders, unzipping the case and extracting it carefully. Armin hesitates for a moment, pressing his palms together before reaching under his keyboard and pulling out a bag.

“So, uh… that friend of mine who’s a textile major? She finished our costumes.”

Jean and I both make a run for the bag at once. He grabs it first, but I wrench it out of his hands and shove him down on the sofa.

“Hey, bastard!” he spits.

“Lead singer,” I smirk, jabbing a finger at my chest. “Can’t have the bassist getting first dibs, now can we?”

I reach into the bag with feverish enthusiasm as Jean folds his arms and glares. I pull out the first thing I can get my hands on, and the sequins poke my fingers.

Oh.

_Oh._

The costumes are every kind of exquisite, glittery mess imaginable. The textile artist clearly went above and beyond the call of duty: there’s a mustard yellow suit jacket, sequined tank tops, a leather vest with multicoloured strips of fabric running down the back. There’s even a couple of long, back-combed wigs thrown in for good measure, and some round, pink-lensed sunglasses. I hold each item up, and Mikasa and Armin look enthralled.

Jean, however… not so much.

“What the hell is this?”

I chuck the leather vest at him, and he looks like he’s trying to suppress his gag reflex.

“Now all you need is hair like Armin’s and we can call you Jean Entwistle.”

Jean lifts his middle finger.

The 104th is a classic rock band, and we made our name covering the legendary sound of the 70s and 80s. I’m talkin’ Van Halen, Journey, AC/DC… the kind of music that makes all the blood rush to your head, makes your heart thump wildly in your chest, vibrates through the floor to your toes. The soundtrack to all the best decisions you’ve ever made, that one playlist you put on when you need to feel like a superhero.

It’s kind of our bread and butter, too. During the working semester, we get most of our money from tips and winnings playing at The Barracks, this old abandoned military place that got renovated into a retro club in the late nineties. It sure beats any other kind of part-time job, I’ll tell you that for nothing. I worked at Starbucks for a while during the summer while Armin worked at the library and Jean and Mikasa did odd-jobs here and there. It was shitty at best, but I always managed to switch up the sound system to play whatever I liked. The management never suspected a thing, and there was something very satisfying about playing Back In Black right when all the old ladies came in for their Saturday morning coffee meet-ups.

For this competition we’re defying expectations by playing a song by The Kinks - something we’d never normally cover - and we’ve even got the crazy outfits to go along with it. Jean can’t stand playing dress-up, so this was too good to pass up for the look on his face if nothing else.

“I still think this is a dumb idea,” grumbles Jean. He kicks off his shoes and throws them in my direction. I catch one right before it hits my guitar.

“Hey, dumbass! You almost hit Lucy!”

Yes. Her name’s Lucy. Don’t judge me, I don’t make the rules.

“Shut up about your precious Lucy, Jaeger—”

“Guys?” Armin squeaks.

For how quiet he is, Armin Arlert is pretty hard to ignore. Probably because he says one really intelligent word for every fifty of our stupid ones.

“I know this isn’t usually what we wear… or play. But Eren was right about giving everyone a surprise.”

Jean huffs and rolls his eyes.

“We have to hit them with something they’ve never seen before,” Armin continues. “The outfits are stunning. Combine that with the ODMG harness Eren will be wearing and we can’t lose.”

The ODMG - or Omni-Directional Movement Gear, as Jean so pretentiously named it - is a crazy piece of kit designed to let us move around the stage in a bunch of different directions without fear of losing our balance. Jean built it himself, since he’s an engineering major, and it’s probably the only thing I’ll ever give him credit for because it’s _insane._ It’s like your typical performance harness, except made specifically to help you hold an instrument and move at the same time with your core muscles. The harnesses are light but strong, and when you’re hooked up from different pivot points in the stage rigging you can run, jump, flip and play your guitar at the same time, no problem.

Truth is, we haven’t tried it on stage yet - but we’ve got it set up in HQ and we’ve used it enough to know the basics. The Rock of Ages competition will be the ODMG’s big debut.

Jean lightens up at the sound of his precious gadget getting some kudos. “Hell yeah. Prize money’s ours.”

Armin levels his gaze at me. “Speaking of, Eren…”

I sneak another cookie out of the vinyl bowl. “Uh huh?”

“The competition’s in two days’ time. Don’t you want some more practice with the ODMG?”

I look over to Jean, and his mouth turns up in a smirk.

“You’ll never be able to use it like I can,” he says pointedly, “but you can use it fine. I say you’re ready.”

“Mikasa?”

“I think that ‘gear’ is ridiculous and one of you is going to get hurt.”

Jean sticks a hand through his hair. “C’mon, Mika. You’re no fun.”

Mikasa is somehow right in Jean’s face before anyone knows what’s going on. Jean shifts back so far up the sofa that he almost ends up toppling backwards over the armrest.

_“Don’t_ call me Mika.”

“Eren calls you that!”

Mikasa glances at me. “He’s earned that right. You haven’t.”

I snort loudly. “Yeah, _Jeanbo.”_

Jean brings his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them glumly. “We’re using the ODMG no matter what. It’s perfectly safe. Eren’s my _friend,_ I’m not gonna let anything happen to him.”

“It’ll be okay,” I say, slinging my guitar over my shoulders and plugging it into the amps. I twiddle the volume setting until there’s a comfortable buzz coming from the speaker. “Let’s just get on and practice, yeah?”

I check Lucy’s tuning, twisting the pegs. I give a nod to the others as they take their places, before slipping into a familiar 60s chord sequence.

———

Saturday night comes around all too fast, and before I know it we’re squeezing into our glittery costumes and preparing to go out on stage. There are six bands performing from around the college, and we’re second to last - Wings of Liberty were the first band to play, and so Marco’s in charge of hoisting me up on the ODMG. He pats me on the back and gives me a thumbs-up once my harness is secured.

The band before us is playing _Hey Jude._ Jean gives a scowl and a mutter of ‘basic’ as we watch them rouse up the crowd easily with the classic song. It’s a good tactic, and I can feel the familiar nerves bubbling up in my chest.

Fun fact: I’m actually not a huge fan of crowds. I know that might sound ridiculous coming from someone who spends most of his time on stage, but more often than not I get so carried away in the music that the size of the audience doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s always the first moment when we step out and everyone starts yelling that makes my stomach swoop to the floor. It’s weird - kind of like playing a horror game, or going on a rollercoaster over and over - you live for the thrill, the adrenaline. It scares you, but in a good way. It fuels you.

I hook my earpieces and clip my microphone on and make sure I can hear the last few seconds of The Beatles. The cheering dies down as the other band bustles past us towards the changing rooms.

“Next up: another blast from the swinging sixties, with costumes that’d make Austin Powers jealous—”

Jean rolls his eyes.

“The 104th!”

Marco grins. “Good luck, guys.”

We step out as a four, me with Lucy, Jean with his bass, Mikasa and her drumsticks and Armin with his hands meekly pressed together as he takes a seat at the keyboard. The crowd recognises us, and the way they cheer and holler before we’ve even begun makes me a little dizzy.

“Let’s go, Trost!”

A roar from the audience. I grin wide, though my hands are sweaty and shaking.

I play the first two bars, and Mikasa follows on drums. I close my eyes, and when I open them again I imagine I’m playing at Woodstock.

_“Girl, you really got me goin’…_   
_You got me so I don't know what I'm doin’ now—_   
_Yeah, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I can't sleep at night—”_

Armin follows along with his keyboard, and when I look over at him he’s grinning ear to ear. The mustard jacket kinda suits him, in a weird way. Matches that shock of blond hair.

_“Yeah, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I don't know what I'm doin’ now—_   
_Oh yeah, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I can't sleep at night—_

_“You really got me—_   
_You really got me—_   
_You really got me—”_

A brief break in the music lets me jump up the stage onto the higher tier, and the crowd whoops as Marco pulls just enough on the ODMG to make it look like I’m weightless.

_“See, don’t ever set me free,_   
_I always want to be by your side—_   
_Girl, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I can't sleep at night—_

_Yeah, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I don't know what I'm doin’ now,_   
_Oh yeah, you really got me now,_   
_You got me so I can't sleep at night—_

_“You really got me—_   
_You really got me—_   
_You really got me—”_

I launch into my solo, leaning forward to make sure my fingers keep up on the fretboard. I’m right at the edge of the platform and I can feel the heat from the spotlight warming the sequins on my tank top. The move we had planned was for me to forward-flip back down with the ODMG, and I hear Marco’s cue through my earpiece. I nod, brace my knees and jump—

And crash.

The music’s stopped. I feel a dull throb on my forehead, presumably where I hit the ground face-first. I crack one eye open and the audience is tittering.

I’m upside-down, staring at the back of the stage, suspended awkwardly from the ODMG. My cheeks burn with the strength of a thousand suns as I realise quickly I’ve made a total idiot of myself on stage.

Marco’s standing in front of me, pulling me up by the arms to right my position.

“You okay, man?”

“Of course I’m not damn okay—”

The audience laughs again, and the humiliation turns to anger. I unclip myself from the harness and kick it aside.

———  
Information To Disclose;  
The Kinks were a British band formed in North London in 1964. Throughout the height of their career, they had five top 10 singles in the US Billboard chart, and in 1990 the four original members of the group were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  
———


	2. Volume Doesn't Equate Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a humiliating defeat at the Rock of Ages competition, a wounded and confused Eren nurses his pride (and his head) at the bar with his bandmates. 
> 
> Little does he know that he's about to meet someone who will change his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo regular updates! how long will this last! who knows!
> 
> we finally get to meet Levi this time around, which i'm sure you've been waiting for!! the scenes between them here were such a joy to write, so i hope you like his characterisation!
> 
> sidenote: don't drink after smacking your head, it's bad for you. eren is stupid.

“Eren, look at me.”  
  
“It’s not that bad, Mikasa. It’s just a bruise.”

I groan, half-frustrated, half-humiliated as Mikasa checks the swelling on my forehead for the hundredth time. No prizes for guessing that we ended up losing the contest - we came fourth out of six, owing to a few pity points from the judges.

It’s the worst we’ve placed in a battle of the bands since high school.

Jean and I aren’t talking, and the air between us is thick and heavy with guilt and resentment as he stuffs his costume back into his bag and zips it up. I blame him, obviously, since he built the ODMG, and he’s looking to blame someone other than himself. As usual.

“What did I tell you?” Mikasa says, frowning at me. “I said someone would get hurt.”

I try to bite my tongue and fail.

 _“Jean_ said he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

I can feel him bristle, sense his eyes on me as I turn my head to look back at Mikasa.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he defends.

“Oh, sure it wasn’t,” I drawl sarcastically. “You weren’t the one who designed the damn thing, after all—”

In a matter of seconds we’re both standing, eye-to-eye, glaring each other down.

“It wasn’t me, okay?” Jean insists. “Someone tampered with it!”

“It’s your job to make sure it worked properly!”

“You didn’t want to practice with it.”

“You said I didn’t _need_ to!”

I grab him by the front of his shirt, pull him forward. His hands are curled into fists.

“Jean!”

Armin’s cry seems distant and strange as Jean tries to swing at me. I catch his wrist and we pause in mid-air.

“The gear,” continues Armin. “One of the lines was severed. It only broke when Eren tried to put all his weight on it for the flip. It wasn’t a fault, it was sabotage.”

Our eyes meet.

“Do you trust him?” Jean asks me, his voice cautious. His arm falls back down by his side.

I drop Jean’s shirt, and readjust his collar. “Okay,” I breathe. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Jean steps back once I’m done, and holds out his hand for me to slap lightly with my own. “Apology accepted, Jaeger. I promise it wasn’t my fault. You know I wouldn’t…”

Jean trails off, and the room suddenly seems all too big. We stare at each other for a while, before Jean shoves his hands in his pockets and I fiddle with the strap of my guitar case.

“C’mon, you idiots,” says Mikasa, stepping out from behind me. “The other bands are already down at the bar, and I’m sure Armin can’t wait to get chatty with one of his fangirls.”

“H-hey!” Armin squeaks. “They’re fans of the band! Any interest in me is purely coincidental!”

Laughter bubbles up from my throat, and the tension melts away. I wrap my arm around Armin’s shoulders and steer him towards the door.

———

The bar at The Barracks is where you’ll find most of us after competitions. It was built from an old dormitory block, so it’s big enough to house the bar and a small stage for the occasional karaoke and open mic nights. This place is where most of us regular performers come to unwind after being on stage. Tonight it’s packed with the bands who played and other ticket holders - technicians, plus-ones and basically anyone else who could get themselves in.

We walk through the low doorway into the bar, and I breathe in the familiar scent of beer-soaked leather and smoke permeating the air. The smell doesn’t bother me. It smells of young hope and disaster in equal measure, thousands of stories played out over thousands of nights with all the people who have been a part of Trost’s youth music culture for over twenty years. It’s a part of our identity now - nobody expects it to smell any different.

It smells like teen spirit.

“Don’t talk to the others,” Jean tells us as we walk in. There are already a few stares levelled in our direction, and I feel the heat shoot up to my ears. “I’m off to find Marco.”

I frown at him. “Jean, how do you know—”

Jean spins back around sharply on his heels, and the glare he gives me is enough to melt steel.

“It wasn’t Marco.”

We settle at the bar, scooting into the stools and awkwardly trying to keep our eyes away from everyone else. I distract myself by mumbling along to the song coming from the jukebox.

There’s a guy a few stools down who doesn’t look much more comfortable than us.

He’s holding his beer weirdly, that’s the first thing I notice - he’s holding it with his whole hand around the glass, and he’s sipping through the gap between his index finger and thumb. I’ve never seen him before.

I nudge Mikasa. “Hey, who’s—”

“Well, would ya look at that? It’s The 104th!”

I nearly jump out of my skin when Hannes appears behind me and slaps me hard between the shoulder blades.

Hannes is head of security at The Barracks - not that it’s much of a job. All he really has to do is make sure nobody brings any drugs or weapons in and collect his paycheck at the end of the month. He’s a good guy, even if he does shirk his responsibilities and drink more than he should. He was a good friend of my dad’s when they were younger, and so he’s always supported Mikasa and me.

“Hey, Hannes,” says Mikasa. “Did you see the competition?”

“Not this time,” he replies, scrubbing the back of his head. The three of us all visibly deflate with relief. “I was stuck out back. Sorry, kiddos. How’d it go, anyway? Did ya win?”

We exchange glances. Armin bites his lower lip, shaking his head.

“Aww, tough luck,” Hannes says kindly, squeezing my shoulders. “Always the next one, right?”

I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Hannes offers me a grin and a thumbs-up before he wanders off, humming to himself.

I stare down at the beermat under my hands, drawing in a deep breath. My head still pounds a little from where I hit it. Mikasa put a dressing over it to stop me poking it incessantly like she knows I would. It hurts.

It hurts to have a colossal bruise on my head, and it hurts like hell to know someone was cruel enough to humiliate me in front of all of my friends. It might have just been a prank - but a nagging feeling in the back of my mind tells me it was intentional. Whoever tampered with the gear set me up to fail. They _wanted_ me to fail.

My thoughts are interrupted when Jean reappears behind me, Marco in tow.

“Hey everyone,” says Marco softly. “I’m sorry about what happened. You guys totally deserved to win.”

Jean’s all smiles now that Marco’s here, slinging an arm securely around his shoulders and shaking his head. “Your band earned it, Marc. Better the prize goes to you than to anyone else.”

Marco quickly becomes a fluster of shy laughter and freckled blush, and Jean’s face lights up with adoration.

How they still haven’t realised they’re in love is beyond me.

“I’m getting everyone a drink,” I announce.

Marco practically faints. “Eren! Why don’t I buy the first round, at least? I mean, my band were the ones who won the prize money…”

Jean’s pushing in front of me, elbows on the bar as he calls for a round of cider for all of us.

“I’ll pay,” he says loudly, brandishing a battered wallet from his pocket. “No better way to celebrate my best friend’s win than buying him a drink, right?”

Armin tugs at the sleeves of his sweater and mumbles a request for diet Pepsi. He doesn’t drink alcohol - it messes with his stomach - so he’s responsible for two things when we go out: driving us home, and humiliating us online.

“I’ll have yours,” I say, nudging him. “No better way to celebrate my best friend’s talent than getting hammered while he watches, right?”

“And takes pictures,” Armin adds without a beat. “And puts them on the band Instagram.”

He snickers behind a sleeve, and I elbow him lightly in the ribs. “Sure. I wouldn’t expect any less from our top PR manager.”

The drinks are served, and Jean is about to triumphantly slap a twenty-dollar bill on the table when the barman receives exact change from someone on Armin’s left.

Mikasa.

She’s grinning. She knows exactly what she’s doing - pulling the rug out from under Jean Kirschtein’s feet at the last minute is too sweet a possibility to ever resist. We’re only making a fool out of him to save him from doing it himself. It’s kindness, really.

“Hey!” Jean protests. I look over at Mikasa, and she throws me a wink. We both know that there’s only one person Jean wanted to buy a drink for.

“My treat,” Mikasa says with indomitable politeness.

We have a couple of drinks and commandeer the jukebox in the corner of the bar. The jukebox is glorious - original, 1983, from an old drive-through diner just west of Stohess, with red and yellow casing and countless treasures inside. It’s reserved mostly for classic rock as per its design, with the exception of a few curveballs. God knows how _Gangnam Style_ got in there.

Marco gets first dibs, and chooses Simple Minds, much to Jean’s delight. We yell along to _Forget About Me,_ and by the time Armin’s sliding fifty cents into the machine and selecting Tears For Fears, the cider is going to my head.

That’s also right about when I notice the guy at the bar again. We’ve been here almost an hour and he hasn’t moved, slowly draining the beer with his hand curled oddly over the glass.

His hair’s cropped around his head with shaved undersides, and he’s only about a head taller than the bar itself. His legs dangle down around the stool, and his eyes seem fixed on a certain nothingness.

“Mikasa,” I try again. “Who’s that guy over there? You seen him before?”

Mikasa pulls the straw of her drink out of her mouth and squints. “I don’t think so. Is he a student?”

“Dunno.”

“Go talk to him.”

I blink. “What? No! He looks like he’s about to take out a hit on someone.”

Mikasa purses her lips. “Or he looks like a normal guy who’s just had a rough day.”

“But I—”

“Rougher than yours.”

I take a deep breath through my nose and sigh it out dramatically. “Okay, whatever. I’ll talk to him. But only if you come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tipsy and I can’t guarantee I won’t say something completely ass-brained.”

“Eren, you don’t need a drop of alcohol for that.”

“Touché.”

I clasp my glass of cider pretty damn tight as I approach the stranger. I slide into the empty stool next to his, and Mikasa sits down on my right.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. His eyes are grey, narrow and weighted down, bottom lids swollen with tiredness. I doubt mine look much better given how little sleep I’ve had recently.

“Hi,” I say experimentally. “I’m Eren.”

“Hi, Eren.” the stranger replies. His lips barely move. His jaw, sharp and angled, works just enough to let him take another sip of beer.

“I, uh… was—”

Mikasa jabs my ribs so hard I nearly topple backwards.

“Ah, um. _We_ were wondering how you’re doing over here on your own. This is my sister Mikasa, by the way.”

The stranger lifts his head a little, raising a hand in a silent greeting that Mikasa quickly returns. I see him do the same thing everyone does when I introduce Mikasa - his head tilts a couple of inches, and I sense his inner curiosity at how an obviously German boy and obviously Japanese girl could be biological siblings. Most people follow the look with a question.

He doesn’t.

He takes another long sip of his beer, almost at the bottom of the glass.

“Do you, uh… want another drink?”

He shakes his head. A few tense moments of silence pass before he speaks.

“You’re in one of the bands, then.”

This recognition somehow fires up my brain, and I sit up tall on the stool with a fast nod.

“Yeah, that’s right. The 104th. I’m the lead guitarist, Mikasa’s our drummer—”

“I hope you’re aware that volume doesn’t equate talent.”

_Um._

My mouth goes completely dry. I look over at Mikasa, and her suddenly clouded expression sends a shiver down my spine.

“W-well, uh...”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

The stranger drains his glass, slides off his stool and leaves, drawing his coat further around himself as he sweeps out of the bar. I feel myself growing hot and humiliated all over again, like the floor’s opened up beneath me and I’ve fallen through.

We’re left in stunned silence until Jean turns up behind me, clapping his hand on my shoulder.

“No luck with weird cup guy, Jaeger?”

Mikasa’s legs catch up with her brain, and she stands up to follow the stranger out. Armin practically leaps in front of her.

“Mikasa, don’t!”

“You don’t know what he said to Eren.”

Armin stares at me, blue eyes inquisitive for an answer.

I’m stuck gazing dumbly at the door as it swings shut behind the nameless man.

“It was nothing,” I say, and Mikasa strains against Armin’s arm.

“He called you noisy and talentless!”

“He said volume doesn't equate talent.”

“Same thing!”

I take hold of Mikasa’s other arm and steer her away from the door.

"Come on, Mika. What was it you said about how he might have had a rough day?"

Jean is watching us, swaying from side to side. He’s a lightweight, so he was doomed after three drinks - but he’s somehow still had more than us. Giggling Marco beside him probably has something to do with that.

“Who was he, anyway?” Jean asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Mikasa just… suggested we talk to him.”

“Yeah, your cutthroat Japanese sister probably isn’t the best wingwoman of all.”

I swat at him, smacking him lightly on the arm.

“I wasn’t trying to chat him up."

I remember the glare the stranger gave me with those exhausted eyes. He was tired, far too tired to watch his words. Too tired to even give me his name.

I cut him slack because I know how that feels.

———

The morning headache is enough to rouse me just before ten. It’s not the worst hangover I’ve ever had, but combined with the bruise on my forehead it’s enough to make my vision spin when the sunlight hits my pillow. I groan, eyes watering as I grab my phone and press the home button for notifications.

There’s a text from Armin:

**Armin**  
_accompanying grandpa to church!! left some ibuprofen and water in the kitchen for you. better get it before jean calls first dibs lmao_

I smile softly through the thumping in my head.

 _Thanks armin,_ I reply, and then: _you’re the best._

It only takes him about five seconds to respond.

**Armin**  
_i know!! ;)_

By the time I manage to roll out of bed and shuffle downstairs, Mikasa and Marco are already making breakfast. Mikasa takes one look at me and shoves a dose of painkillers and glass of water into my hands.

“Thanks,” I breathe, and Marco grins from where he stands by the stove, serving pancakes with delicate precision. “Where’s Jean?”

“Shower,” Marco replies. “Poor guy was kind of worse for wear, so he’s skipped breakfast for now.”

We were lucky in getting the apartment we did. It’s still on campus, but instead of staying in dormitories with random assignments we found somewhere we could share as a four - each with our own bedroom, too - and it’s ours as long as we keep up rent. Jean’s and Armin’s parents helped out with the first deposits, and mine and Mikasa’s social worker said it’d be a ‘good opportunity’ to ‘increase our independent living skills’, or something like that.

Social worker. Yeah, I know. It’s okay though - her name’s Petra, and she’s a real sweetheart once you get used to having her around. We give her free concert tickets and she comes along every once in a while. She’s like our cool aunt, or something. Takes good care of us.

“How about you?” I ask, hopping up into a chair at the breakfast bar. Marco hands me a plate of pancakes and I thank him. “You were drinking too.”

“I was also drinking water,” Marco explains, smirking slightly. “You and Jean should try it sometime.”

I roll my eyes, slathering honey over my pancakes. I glance over at Mikasa, who is flicking through one of her Japanese textbooks.

I take a peek at the cover and clear my throat.

“Oh-a-yo, nee-san,” I stumble. My Japanese pronunciation is pathetic, but it’s worth it for the way Mikasa’s mouth curls upward in a little smile.  
  
“Guten morgen,” she replies, which is fine by me.

Trost is a real melting pot of culture - we’re famed for it - but the main language you’re likely to hear besides English is German. A lot of us were born from German or Austrian roots, the kids and grandkids of immigrants who moved here after the war, and it’s something we hold tight to. You’ll notice this most in the middle of town if you decide to visit what we like to call ‘Little Berlin’, the central European-style marketplace.

I’m German, hence the name Jaeger and all, and most of the others are too - Marco’s family is from Salzburg, Reiner’s folks are from Munich, et cetera, but we’ve got exceptions. Jean is half-French, and Armin half-Dutch, and then of course there’s Mikasa, who came here knowing barely a word of English or German and now knows both better than I do.

Jean Kirschtein suddenly appears from the hallway, scrubbing his hair with a towel. He slaps himself down in the seat next to me and Marco quietly slides him a plate of pancakes.

“Morning, Jaeger,” he says, a tired smirk lifting his lips.

“Hey,” I nod, and we bump fists.

There’s a knock on the door before I can say anything else. Mikasa gets it first with her lightening-reflexes, and Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer stroll into the kitchen.

“Yo,” says Connie, throwing us a peace sign. “We want our bassist back.”

Sasha jabs him in the ribs.

 _“Actually,”_ she continues, “We wanted to offer our sympathy for the way yesterday went down, and— wait, are those pancakes?”

I laugh into my orange juice. Connie and Sasha mean well, but somehow always end up getting distracted by one thing or another. Our homeroom teacher in high school described them as a few sandwiches shy of a picnic, and I don’t think he was wrong.

(Naturally, Sasha turned that into a conversation about sandwiches.)

Jean grumbles as Marco ropes him into making more pancake batter. I can tell what he’s thinking from the way he side-eyes Sasha and Connie, and anxiousness settles in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t either of them, of that I’m certain - but Jean is looking for someone to blame.

The day rolls on without much event. Sasha and Connie stay for a while and we have a few rounds of Mario Kart before Armin gets home. Jean manages to lighten up enough to grace everyone with his ‘moves’ performing Take On Me on Just Dance, and I slink back to my room to spend the rest of the afternoon perfecting the chord sequence of a song I’m working on.

———

By the time my Monday morning Psychology class comes around, I’ve forgotten all about the stranger at the bar.

That is, until he sits down right next to me in the lecture hall.

I do a double take, because there’s no _way_ it’s the same dude - but sure enough, he stares me down with lidded grey eyes and addresses me by name.

“Eren,” he nods.

I have no idea what to say.

A thousand questions buzz through my head at once - I still don’t even know his name, so I should ask him, and hey, isn’t he kinda... old, to be here? And what’s with sitting right next to me? Surely he made his opinion of me clear at the bar?

“Uhhh… hi.”

The stranger proceeds to unhook his satchel from his shoulder and retrieve what looks like a pack of antibacterial wipes from a zipped pocket inside. He scrubs down the table immediately in front of him before rubbing his hands and discarding the wipe in a little plastic bag.

I watch all of this with my mouth half-open, of course.

The stranger clears his throat, pulls out a textbook and a notepad already full of annotations.

Oh, and there’s a pencil case, too. Translucent, with a blue zipper.

I extract my _Legend of Zelda_ pencil case and rock-themed notepad from my backpack with slightly less enthusiasm than normal.

“So,” he begins, abruptly enough to make me jump. “Are you just gonna stare at me, or are we going to have a conversation?”  
  
I feel a blush billowing slowly in my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I say hurriedly, “It’s just, uh…”

He lifts a hand to stop me.

“I gave you a bad first impression, I know. Do you hate me?”

I shake my head. “N-no.”

The stranger gives a long sigh, and reaches into his satchel again. He pulls out a bottle of hand sanitiser and squirts a very generous amount into his palm.

He offers it to me.

“My name is Levi,” he says.

The absurdity of the entire moment makes me grin, and I take hold of his hand firmly. The sanitiser is cool on my skin and smells of oranges.

“Very nice to meet you, Levi.”

———  
Information To Disclose;  
_Don’t You (Forget About Me)_ was produced in 1985 and performed by Scottish rock band Simple Minds. The song is best known for being played during the opening and closing credits of the John Hughes film _The Breakfast Club._  
———

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WE GO.
> 
> Quick nb: I only realised I made the legal age to drink in this fic's setting 18 after I'd written it, which... wouldn't be accurate if this was in the States as I'd originally intended. I live in the UK, where the drinking age _is_ 18, so... do with that what you will. Maybe this is in a different country, or a slightly more progressive alternate universe? Or perhaps The Barracks plays by its own rules. I wouldn't be surprised.
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr at eren--gayger!


	3. Levi With An R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Eren, the week keeps getting weirder and weirder.
> 
> From landing on his face on stage to being insulted by some weirdo to having said weirdo sit down right next to him in _class_ of all places, it seems the fates are playing mind games with our guitar-wielding hero—
> 
> But as it turns out, the weirdo is not that weird at all - he’s called Levi, and he’s just about the coolest person Eren’s met in forever. 
> 
> Now all that’s left is to introduce his new buddy to his bandmates. Easy, right…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE WEEKS DOWN!
> 
> Happy Shingeki No Hate Week! I hope you're all participating to make our fandom a nicer place! <3
> 
> Here's a chapter 3. Multiple Junior High references in this one - bonus points if you catch them!
> 
> Oh, also... if you're interested, the French sentence Levi says here means "you're a dirty curious brat"... go figure.
> 
> eren--gayger on Tumblr! :D

“So…”

I draw back my hand, rubbing my palms together until the sanitiser evaporates. Below us, Professor Smith strolls in and starts shuffling papers on his desk. “What… what brings you here?”

Levi shrugs. “Long story. Why, do I look old?”

“What?”  
  
I can feel the heat on my face reach record levels. Something about the way Levi gazes at me makes me feel like he’s noticed.

“No! No, you look... you look normal.”

I stare down at my folder, suddenly finding the pixellated band logos morbidly fascinating.

Levi clicks through his teeth. “If you must know, I’m a mature student. I turned twenty-eight last month.”

It surprises me more than I thought it would. He certainly looks to be quite far into his twenties, but… the thought of the man next to be being a full ten years my senior is intimidating, to say the least.

Twenty-eight. I count back quickly in my head.

“Wait a second. That means… you were born in the 80s?”

Levi raises a brow. “Technically, yeah. Didn’t really see much of it though.”

My brain whirrs with the possibilities of this little detail. There’s a strong likelihood that Levi grew up listening to 80s music, even if he didn’t see the decade himself - and he _was_ at The Barracks that night, so perhaps he does like classic rock in one way or another…

I’m suddenly leaning towards him slightly.

“Man, do you have any idea how cool that is? I’d give anything just to be able to say that.”

“Tch.”

I open my mouth to start up again about music - about whether he plays an instrument, or the first record he bought with his own money, or if he—

“I’m guessing you’re eighteen, then.”

“Nineteen in March!”

He nods, and turns back to his desk. He opens his textbook and thumbs through it while Professor Smith sets up a powerpoint.

“Listen, Eren…”

“Hmm?”

“I apologise for insulting you the other night. It… wasn’t a very good day for me.”

Our eyes meet for a second, and I notice a flicker of that same exhausted look I’d seen at The Barracks. Something passes between us - ephemeral, like a short breeze - and I know not to press him for detail.

He seems to see something in my gaze too, because the tension in his face releases just a little.

“No problem, man. I’ve forgotten about it already,” I say, which isn’t untrue. The issue of the sabotaged ODMG has seized control of my working memory almost entirely.

Levi hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening and closing once or twice.

“So are you…”

He trails off. I tilt my head. “Yeah?”

“Are you part of the band that played _Hey Jude?”_

I’m unable to stop the smirk forming on my face. “So you were at the concert, huh?”

“I could hear it. Answer the question, brat.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Nah. That was the band before us. I’m in The 104th, I was the lead singer who fell on his face.”

Levi exhales, and his posture relaxes with it. He looks almost relieved - about what I can’t tell.

“I heard about that. Your stage gear malfunctioned.”

I feel my face redden again. It’s a small miracle he didn’t see it happen, but… if Levi at the bar heard about that misfortune, then sure as hell the rest of the school knows, too. Shit.

“Sure did,” I mutter dryly. “My friend Armin thinks someone sabotaged us.”

“Huh.”

Levi sounds gentle, almost sympathetic. His brow furrows slightly, though he doesn’t take it any further than that.

It hits me that I’ve been here for almost five months and yet Levi was a stranger before today. I’m the only one of my friends who takes Psychology, though I have a couple of different modules with other people - I share Sociology with Armin, and my Employability Skills programme was where I met Sasha and Connie.

“I haven’t seen you before now,” I say. I wrack my memory to see if I recognise Levi from any classes last semester - but something tells me I definitely would have remembered this guy had I met him before.

“I homeschooled the first semester,” Levi replies coolly.

“Prof let you do that?”

“I’ve known him for a long time.”

Professor Smith is still fiddling with his tech. An error message pops up on the projector and he groans.

“Geez, old man,” Levi mutters. “What’s taking you so long? It’s like you’re technologically constipated.”

I snort, and Levi looks over at me and rolls his eyes. I think I see a hint of amusement behind his otherwise deadpan expression.

“So you know Erwin pretty well?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “We go way back.”

I smirk at him, folding my arms across my chest. “Does that mean you’ve got all the gossip on him? I’m desperate to know which one of his ridiculous flashy ties is his favourite.”

Professor Smith’s ties are somewhat of a legendary saga around campus - today he’s sporting red and yellow polka-dot.

Levi narrows his eyes. “That kind of information will come at a price, Eren…” he peeks over at my folder, “…Jaeger.”

I grin. I mime stroking an imaginary beard, glancing upwards in mock consideration.

“I’ve got a tube of Pringles in my bag,” I settle. “I can sneak them to you throughout the lecture.”

“… That’ll do, I suppose.”

Before the crucial intel can be exchanged, however, the polka-dot Professor clears his throat loudly at the front of the hall to get our attention.

“Alrighty, class. Looks like we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. Turn to page 236.”

I grab my textbook and flick through it to find the page. I’m quicker than Levi, and when I glance over at him I notice his name written in the front of his folder. At least, I think it’s his name.

_RIVAILLE ACKERMAN._

“Levi… with an R?”

“Yep.”

I tilt my head. “So you’re French?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.”

…

“So you speak French?”

Levi halts in his search for the correct page to roll his eyes deliberately at me. _“Tu es une sale gosse curieux.”_

“Wow! You’re definitely getting extra Pringles for that.”

“Tch.”

———

It’s not the last time Levi sits next to me. Not by a long shot.

He does it again, two days later at our next lecture. Same routine as before: he wipes down the desk, squirts sanitiser in his palm, shakes my hand.

“There is a proven link between seat location and academic success, you know.”

I rub my hands, bewildered. “We’re not being tested on that, are we?”

Levi shakes his head. “No, no. I just read about it. We’re near the front and in the centre, which makes us more likely to achieve a better grade as we’re in a position that’s more conducive to productivity. Helps you focus, apparently.”

I shrug, and smile a little. “You’re talkative today.”

“So what if I am?”

Levi hums, and starts organising his notes - not that they could be any more organised than they already are.

“As well as that,” he continues, “Most of us feel the instinct to sit in the same place habitually, as this is something we’ve tried and found to have no negative consequences. I’ll bet you’ve been sitting in this spot since September, haven’t you?”

“Uh… yeah, actually.”

“There we are. Naturally assuming a seating plan brings comfort to a student, as it allows them to have a recognisable place in an otherwise unfamiliar environment.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Levi, you don’t have to justify yourself using psychology. I know you just couldn’t wait to sit next to me again.”

Levi’s response is a sidelong glance that shifts upwards into a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, brat. I was just sharing that with you because it interests me.”

“Nerd.”

“Says the guy with a Legend of Zelda pencil case.”

I grin. “Says the guy who _recognised_ a Legend of Zelda pencil case.”

I look over at Levi. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Touché.”

———

Thursday’s Employability Skills is agonising - far more so than usual now I know I won’t see Levi again until Monday. Connie and Sasha tide me over with the occasional snickered remarks among the aching boredom of CV tips and interview advice, but their humour is lost on me for once.

My mind drifts back to Levi before too long. We’d spent the best part of the week’s lectures scribbling conversations in the margins of my notepad while Professor Smith talked, and it was the best distraction I’d been blessed with in years. Levi’s acerbic wit had me swallowing down hysterical giggles - particularly when he decided to take a jab at Hitch Dreyse’s haircut - and in as few words as possible while surreptitiously sneaking Pringles below the desk we’d covered:

1\. Professor Smith’s favourite tie (it’s the Santa Claus one);  
2\. The vast swathes of gum under the table;  
3\. Sigmund Freud’s severe daddy issues;

And possibly most importantly:

4\. Jean Kirschtein’s startling resemblance to a horse (I’d provided pictures).

Neither of us talked much at all about ourselves - I’d told him more about the band and our recently-shattered streak of competition success, but he’d stayed entirely quiet about his own life outside college. Despite his unwillingness to discuss himself, it was still obvious to me that Levi is not the same man who’d carelessly insulted us at The Barracks and left without a second thought.

It makes me curious to know why he’d act that way in the first place. Sure, he’s sardonic as hell, and perhaps a little cynical, but not cruel.

My mind floats aimlessly around until lunch. As soon as I’m released from the prison that is Employability Skills, I fire off a text to Armin.

**Me**  
_Im free finally. Come up to the café??_

Armin’s reply is almost instantaneous, as usual.

**Armin**  
_sure thing buddy!! see you in 5 ^_^_

Our favourite place to go for lunch is the café above the college library. It’s a neat little place, all book-themed furniture and coffee bean smell and overpriced bagels - and we like to sit out on the balcony in summer and watch the rest of the campus buzz around below. Today they’re offering chicken soup and homemade bread, and the smell of it alone makes my mouth water from two buildings away. The thought of some warm, soothing soup is just enough to warrant the perilous journey across campus in the ass-freezing cold.

When I reach for the library door, Armin’s already there to pull it open and let me in.

“Hey,” I breathe, stamping the frost off my shoes onto the doormat and papping my gloved hands together to restart my circulation. Armin’s wrapped up head to toe despite the indoor heating in the lecture halls, and when he tugs his scarf off his face I see the tell-tale reddening of his usually pale button-nose. “I keep telling you to go _inside_ when it’s cold, dude. I’m not down to watch you get frostbite.”

Armin smiles apologetically. “It’s okay. I wanted us to get soup together.”

If I’m not thawed out by the central heating in the library, Armin’s kind heart just about melts me.

We wander upstairs and join the queue, and luckily for us we’ve caught it early enough so we’re not too far from the front. The soup smell is overpowering now, and I feel my stomach rumble under my coat.

Armin opens his mouth to talk, but he’s unable to fight off the inevitable sneezing fit that follows. A few people around us step back in fear of infection.

“Eren I’m - chu! - sorry I just - chu! - can’t help it you know I’m - chu! - prone to - chu! - colds in - chu! - winter…”

I dig into my pocket and hand him a scruffy-looking tissue which he takes gratefully. Armin’s immune system has about as much clout as Sasha’s ability to resist her appetite, so winter is typically spent nursing whichever coughs and colds he accumulates.

We collect our soup and make our way to a window seat. I burn my tongue in my eagerness to try it. Armin tears off a piece of bread and lowers it daintily in his bowl, blowing it cautiously before chewing it up.

“Good?”

Armin nods and hums through his mouthful. It’s delicious, just as I expected. I lean back against the plush seat and sigh happily.

“It’s so nice and warm,” says Armin, cupping the bowl firmly with his hands. I’m surprised it doesn’t burn, but Armin’s got a tolerance for heat that rivals his intolerance for cold.

“So how’s your day been?” I ask, slurping soup noisily off my spoon.

Armin shrugs, mouth lifting in a soft little smile. “Not too bad. I had my History lecture, worked on an assignment… cracked the ice on the pond by the dorms to give the ducks a bit of water.”

“You did what, now?”

“They were all standing around!” he defends. “I couldn’t leave them waiting for it to melt, that could take weeks!”

I laugh, reaching over the table to squeeze his shoulder. “Armin… never change. Please.”

“I-I’ll try not to.”

I dunk a sizeable chunk of bread into my soup and cram it into my mouth. I gaze out of the window at the rooftops of campus, the puffing chimneys sending spiralling smoke into the sky. The sky’s a deep, piercing blue, and if I look up far enough I can almost imagine it’s summer, and the blue is that same blue above the rolling waves when we go down to the ocean.

It’s hard to imagine that we’re all finally in college. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have believed it - Armin and Mikasa, sure, maybe even Jean - but not me. School was at the bottom of my priorities after Mikasa and I were moved to the safe home. Dad died soon after that, and then it was just me and my D- report card to show for my trouble.

Armin’s the reason I’m here. He was the one who tutored me, day in day out, setting practice papers in front of me and reciting key details before we went into exams. He reminded me that there was always some hope left, even through the days when I fought with Mikasa, or the nights where I threw my things at the wall and tore up my clothes and cried and choked and screamed. Armin came with me when I had my first appointment with Petra, he was with me when I went to the doctor’s for medication adjustments. He drove me to the hospital when I did stupid things to myself.

He never gave up on me.

So I’m here, in this café, at Trost University studying Psychology. I’m alive. And even though sometimes it doesn’t feel real, even though some days I can barely breathe without wanting to cry my eyes out, I made it. I’ll keep making it - me and Armin and Mikasa and Jean.

“Eren.”

I practically jump out of my seat. I feel a slight weight in the space next to me.

“Levi?!”

I look at Armin. Naturally, he’s terrified, pulling his scarf back up over his nose and mouth.

I try to suppress the stupid grin that threatens my otherwise cool expression. It’s hard to contain my delight.

“What are you doing here?”

“Having lunch, stupid,” he drawls. “Same as you.”

Resistance is completely futile. I snort a laugh, elbowing his shoulder and shifting my tray up on the table to make room for his.

“Armin, this is Levi. He takes Psychology with me.”

Armin studies Levi for a second. His baby-blue gaze widens with recognition. “You’re…”

“The insensitive jackass from the bar?” finishes Levi. Armin looks horrified. “Yeah… I apologise. I hope we can move past that.”

Levi produces a pack of hand wipes. He passes us one each, before scrubbing his own hands thoroughly. It’s only after he’s satisfied we’re clean that he offers us handshakes.

Armin still looks like he’s staring at a ghost.

“So, you’re Armin Arlert,” says Levi. “I have heard plenty about you from Eren already. … He wasn’t wrong about your hair.”

I almost choke on soup. Armin lifts a hand to paw delicately at his blond coconut bob. “My… my hair?”

“He’s kidding, Armin,” I assure him. “Besides, he can’t talk. Edgy undercut my ass.”

“Tch. Brat.”

Levi pushes me so hard I nearly slide under the table, and Armin hides quiet giggles under his scarf. I right myself and pout at Levi dramatically before going back to my rapidly-cooling soup.

Once the ice is broken, Levi and Armin chatter happily. Armin talks about his keyboard rig, and mentions he learned on his grandfather’s piano, and Levi comments on how he used to play the violin a long time ago.

I like the thought of him playing violin. It suits him in a way I can’t quite explain.

“Does your violin have a name?” I ask, before I know what I’m doing.

“Huh?”

“Eren’s guitar has a name,” Armin explains with a smile. “I’d name my rig too, but… you know. Way too many components.”

Levi turns his head to look at me.

“What’s your guitar’s name?”

I’m pretty sure my face matches the red tablecloth. “Uh… Lucy.”

Levi’s mouth pulls up in a noticeable smile this time. He nods. “Good choice. Let me guess, _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?”_

I gaze at him curiously, mouth dropping open. “How’d you know? It’s… one of my favourite songs.”

Levi hums. “My violin doesn’t have a name. It’s up on a shelf gathering dust right now, gross.” He pauses for a moment, lifting his teacup in a familiar arch grip. “Perhaps I should give it one.”

I’ve had Lucy since I was twelve. It cost my dad almost all of the money we had saved up after he’d bought Mikasa’s drum kit too. That was when he suggested we started a band with Armin - and that summer, that’s exactly what we did. We practiced and practiced until our fingers were sore and our ears ringing, and then we entered the Shiganshina Middle School talent show and won first place. My dad came along and watched every second.

I wonder what kind of love Levi has for his violin.

“U-uh…”

I look over at Armin, and his eyes are glittering thoughtfully. He blinks a few times.

“Yeah, Armin?”

“I-I was just thinking, m-maybe… if Levi wanted, h-he could… come see us tomorrow.”

Tomorrow… Friday. Band practice.

Levi looks at me.

I realise quickly that ‘inviting Levi to band practice’ means ‘introducing Levi to Mikasa and Jean’, and I’m not entirely sure how confident I feel about that. While I’d normally forgive the whims of my bandmates, the thoughts of Jean making fun of Levi for his cup habits or Mikasa attempting to kick his ass don’t seem altogether appealing. Levi’s cool and collected and hilarious and intelligent and everything else I’m not—

In short, I don’t wanna mess this up.

“To see you practice?” Levi asks, and I nod in clarification.

Levi looks between us for a few moments, and then:

“I’d like to.”

My stomach swoops, and I’m not sure whether it’s out of relief or fear.

———

I breach the topic of Armin’s invitation to Jean and Mikasa over dinner. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

“So, uh… I’m bringing a friend to practice tomorrow if that’s okay.”

For a moment there’s silence, and then all eyes at the table shift over to me and give the kind of accusatory look I’d get for confessing to punching a dog in the face.

Jean pauses his fork of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

“You’ve got _friends?_ Like, real ones?” he asks incredulously. I kick him under the table.

“He’s someone in my class. His name is Levi.”

Mikasa stares at me. She calmly lifts her glass of water and takes a sip from it without breaking eye contact. “I haven’t heard that name before,” she says coolly.

“Uh… yeah, he’s new. Armin met him today, though. We had lunch together.”

“Did you, Armin?”

Armin shrinks down so far under the table it’s as if the floor’s swallowing him up, feet first. “Y-yes, that’s right. He’s nice.”

“There we go,” I say, without giving Armin the opportunity to reveal that we have, in fact, all met Levi once before. “Levi is nice.”

Mikasa purses her lips. “We don’t normally let other people watch our practice, Eren.”

“What’s he like, anyway?” Jean interrupts. An infuriating smirk spreads across his mouth, “Is he your boyfriend?”

I feel like slamming Jean’s head down into his spaghetti.

“No, dipshit.”

“Eren!”

Mikasa’s staring daggers at us both now. Jean folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t get why Eren gets to bring someone. Why can’t Marco come watch too?”

“Because Marco’s in our rival band, idiot,” I retort.

“And how’d you know your precious Levi isn’t in a band? How’d you know he didn’t just invite himself to learn our secrets, huh? We still don’t know who ruined the ODMG.”

“It’s hardly gonna be a guy I’ve only met twice.”

“He might be working for someone.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say flatly. “Besides, he didn’t invite himself. Armin did.”

“Armin?!”

Armin makes the kind of face he’d make if he saw me being eaten alive.

“Eren! I… I just thought it’d be nice, okay? I mean, w-we can offer him an alternative, maybe, if you don’t…”

Mikasa gets up and starts clearing the table. She takes Armin’s plate and he looks up at her, blue eyes wide and shimmering.

Nobody can deny Armin’s puppy-dog eyes, not even Mikasa. Suddenly I’m glad to have him on my side.

Mikasa takes in a deep breath.

“Fine. Eren can bring his friend. … But only because Armin knows him too.”

I look at Armin, grinning giddily. I mouth my thanks across the table and get up to help Mikasa with the dishes.

———

It’s a little past midnight when I get a text from Jean. The notification momentarily quietens the audio of the Game Grumps compilation I’m watching, and I swipe down to read it.

**Horseface**  
_hey jaegerbomb are you awake_

**Me**  
_Yea, why?_

I faintly hear the creaking of floorboards as Jean not-so-stealthily creeps across the hall. I pull out my earbuds just in time for him to fling open my door.

He’s clutching his phone, staring wide-eyed into space like he’s seen a ghost. In the dark of the room it’s hard to tell, but I think I can see his lips quiver.

“Eren…”

His voice cracks.

“I think I’m in love with Marco.”

———

Information To Disclose:  
_Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_ is a song written and performed by iconic British rock band The Beatles on their 1967 album _Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band._ The song gained controversy for its psychedelic lyrics, with many critics claiming it to be a reference to hallucinogenic drugs.


	4. Baby Don't Back Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise, Jean Kirschtein is in love with his best friend Marco. Eren’s the one in charge of helping him devise a plan to confess in the best possible way - with rock, of course - but on top of that, he’s got to pull his weight to show the cool and confident Levi around the beloved band HQ.
> 
> For both Jean and Eren, their fates rest in their ability to impress a guy with the music they love. 
> 
> No pressure, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *strums guitar* aaaaAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> How are you all doing today? Good? Yes? I'm so ill. Save me. Summer colds are the work of Satan.
> 
> This chapter includes Jean having a gay panic and Jean's mom fawning over Levi. You can thank me for the relatable content later.
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr)

“How’d you figure?”

I shift up on the bed and pat the space next to me, plucking a couple of tissues out of a nearby box. Jean takes them and perches cautiously.

“I… I put on _Hero_ by Enrique Iglesias and thought of him and now I’m crying.”

_Oh, boy._

“That... _that_ was your homosexual litmus test? Enrique Iglesias?”

We stare at each other for a moment. The ice melts and we laugh breathlessly, Jean drawing his knees up to his chest.

“Jean… correct me if I’m wrong, but… you’ve known this for a while, haven’t you? I mean, the rest of us have known since forever, God, he’s all you damn talk about, _Marco_ -this and _Marco_ -that—”

“Hey!” Jean protests, jabbing me hard in the ribs. “Idiot, you’re supposed to be listening to me!”

“Okay, okay,” I concede, drawing my arms around myself to prevent any further injuries. “Just tell me.”

Jean sucks in a deep breath.

“It’s… kinda been a long time coming. In high school I was so distracted by my crush on Mikasa…”

“Don’t remind me, geez—”

“Shut up, you bastard!”

I cackle laughter, and this time Jean pushes me so hard I almost roll off the bed.

_“Anyway,”_ he continues pointedly while I scramble for purchase, “Back then I didn't realise that Marco’s kinda… always been here for me, you know? We go right back to elementary school, but I never…”

He pauses and looks at me. His expression turns soft and serious, the kind of Jean I hardly ever see - but I know it’s there. Under everything else.

He scrunches a tissue up in his palm and scrubs away the tear lines running down his cheeks.

“I never thought I could feel this way about a guy, Eren. He’s so… cute, and funny, and such a sweetheart, and… damn it. He’s never gonna like me back. I’m an _asshole.”_

“Yeah,” I say with a grin, earning me another shove. “But that doesn’t make you unlovable. I’d even go as far as to say it’d be charming, to the right person. Endearing.”

“You really think so?”

“Someone’s gotta like it.”

Jean shrugs and presses his back against the wall. He fiddles with the tissue, tearing it up into little pieces on his lap.

“Jean…” I say softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If you want my honest opinion, Marco doesn’t just like you. He loves you.”

Jean’s eyes fill with tears again. I tense my hand in a reassuring squeeze.

“I _want_ him to love me,” he murmurs, the teardrops spilling out of his eyes when he blinks. “I… I want it more than anything else. I feel kinda like I’ve never been in love before now. Never like this. He makes me feel so… _safe,_ Eren. Despite everything lately. He feels safe.”

Our eyes meet.

“You… know what I mean, right?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

Jean lets himself sink down against me, his head on my shoulder. A shiver runs through him and I can sense it, like a short, sharp breeze.

We don’t talk all that much about Jean’s anxiety. I know about it, as do Mikasa, Armin and Marco - but apart from that, it’s something he tries to hide. Sometimes he won’t be able to practice, and sometimes he’ll leave college early and go home to lie down. Sometimes he goes back to his parents’ place and stays for a few nights, just until he gets balanced again. It hurts - I can see how it hurts, just like my anger and sadness hurts me - but he’s fighting it. He’s fighting it so goddamn _hard,_ and for that I couldn’t be prouder.

We stick together, me and Jean. We know how it feels to be on the wrong side of your own brain.

“We have to make it happen, man.”

Jean lifts his head. “How?”

I grin. “There’s a Valentine’s competition happening at The Barracks next month. It’s perfect timing. You dedicate the song to him.”

Jean looks at me like I’ve just handed him the meaning of life on a silver platter.

“Listen, Jaeger… you’re an idiot, but sometimes you’re weirdly genius. This is one of those times.”

I snort and poke him in the side. “Well, that way you can tell him how you feel, or... whatever, and I don’t get to fall on my face because you’ll be the one singing.”

For a second it looks like I hit a nerve with the mention of what happened last time, and I feel a prickle of guilt through my veins.

Luckily, the euphoria of having a game plan is distracting enough. Jean’s reply is simple and instantaneous.

“Let’s do it.”

———

Sociology on Friday is practically unbearable. I jitter in my seat and rap my pen repetitively on the desk, doing anything but concentrating as the minutes tick down. I’ve arranged to meet Levi outside my building where we’ll walk to Jean’s car together, and all of a sudden the prospect of him being there watching me play has my throat going dry.

It’s not like I don’t want to play for him. The opposite, in fact - my music is the most important thing in my life, not even second to my degree. To know me, Levi has to know my music.

But I’m still convinced he’s going to change his mind about me any second now. Our companionship seems far too good to be true.

_Just like Annie,_ says a very unhelpful part of my brain, and I shove the thought back down.

I take a sip of my water and start doodling in the margins of my notepad. Armin’s sitting next to me, but he usually doesn’t talk in lectures - the little brainiac is way too busy jotting down every tiny detail in a rainbow array of fineliners to entertain me. I hear drifts of the theory from Professor Brzenska but it hardly goes in. Something about group formation.

Levi’s the perfect storm to my particular group of friends. Armin liked him well enough, but c’mon, who’s gonna deny _Armin_ their friendship? Mikasa’s reaction to inviting Levi was stone cold, and that’s without the added complication that _yes, Levi is the guy from the bar, can we just drop it already?_

It’s true he’s not like any of our other friends, but maybe that’s why I get along with him so well. He’s different. New.

My daydreams are broken when Armin nudges my shoulder. I look up.

“Eren? Do you have your essay?”

My face drains.

_Shit._

———

Professor Brzenska's usual schooling on why I should be taking my classes more seriously takes up enough time to make me late for meeting Levi. When I finally reach the bottom of the stairs and almost crash into the automatic door, Levi is leaning against the outside of the building.

With Jean.

“Took your sweet time, Jaegerbomb,” says Jean, mumbling through a cigarette in his mouth.

“What? You…”

I look between them. The cigarette isn’t lit.

“Jean, do you need a lighter?”

Levi shoots me a glare. “Don’t even think about it. I told Horseface not to smoke that filthy shit around me.”

“Stop calling me Horseface, damn it!”

I stare at Levi incredulously, before bursting into an uncontrollable grin. Levi smirks.

“So let’s go,” he says to me, and I’m ready to make a sprint for the car when Jean grabs my coat and drags me back towards him.

“Wait! Can’t a guy have a smoke first? Jeez.”

"Yeah, if you want lung cancer," says Levi.

“What if Marco walks past, huh?” I add, folding my arms across my chest. The way Jean’s face drains is priceless. “Don’t want him to see you with such a bad habit, do you?”

I’ve never seen a guy throw an unused cigarette on the ground so fast. He even crunches it under his heel.

“Let’s go,” he agrees sheepishly.

———

I elect to sit in the back with Levi so he doesn’t feel so awkward, and Jean takes this as an invitation to prattle on about himself.

My phone buzzes halfway through the journey.

**Unknown number**   
_He’s really chatty for a horse._

**Me**   
_How did you get my number???!_

I look over at Levi. He’s smirking again, mouth turned up at the corner. It’s an expression I could get used to.

**Levi**   
_Let’s just say a little donkey told me._

He even goes as far as to add a horse emoji, and I snort into my hand.

“Hey! What are you giggling freaks planning back there?”

Jean angles down the front mirror and glares at us.

“Nothing. Just your average mutiny,” I say, and Levi nods in agreement.

“Your car’s so filthy we might as well hijack it and take it for a valet.”

I start giggling again. Jean huffs and turns back around, just in time to see a light change - it’s no biggie, he jams the breaks a little hard and we roll forward, the car behind us beeping in frustration.

“Who taught you to drive, Jean? Mad Max?”

“Shut it, Jaeger.”

I look over at Levi to make a sarcastic remark to tickle him, but I end up biting my tongue.

Levi’s still leaning forward, his forehead pressed against the back of Jean’s seat. He takes in a deep breath and releases it with a slight shudder, rolling his shoulders and sitting up. He looks strange, hollow - his eyes are vacant as he stares at the basket-weave upholstery of the car seat in front of him. For a moment I think he might have hurt himself, but there’s no mark on his head and his eyes don’t flinch.

“Did you get carsick?” I ask him softly. He swallows, his throat visibly tight as his Adam’s apple bobs. He turns his head a few degrees at the sound of my voice, but he doesn’t look at me.

“Something like that.”

———

We make it to Jean’s house within the minute, and as usual his mother waits on the porch for us. Levi slips silently out of the car, and I hesitate to follow him before we’re cornered by Mrs. Kirschtein.

“Jeanbo! Who’s this new friend of yours?”

Jean purses his lips, slamming the car door shut. “He’s Eren’s new boyfriend.”

Horror seeps through my veins. “What the hell, Jean! He’s not… I’m not…”

I look at Levi. He offers Mrs. K a measured, polite smile in lieu of a handshake.

“Eren and I are just classmates. My name is Levi, nice to meet you.”

Mrs Kirschtein has the audacity to raise her eyebrows at me, and I can feel myself cringe.

“Well, Levi, you’re always welcome here with Eren and Jean,” she says proudly. “I’m Jean’s mama, but you can call me Marianne if you’d like.”

“Of course, Marianne,” Levi says with a curt nod, and Mrs. K giggles with all the self-control of a teenage girl. She steps aside to allow him in, and he slips through the door behind Jean.

As soon as Levi’s out of earshot, she turns to face me.

“Goodness, Eren. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

_Oh God._ “He’s not my boyfriend, I promise. He’s new to my Psychology class.”

She nudges me, a knowing smile across her features. _“Oh,_ but he’s so handsome and well-mannered! You should consider it.”

“Mrs. Kirschtein!”

“I’m just saying.”

I open my mouth to protest more, but I hear a voice from inside.

“Eren! Come on!”

It’s Armin.

_Shit,_ I think, _it’s Armin, Armin and Mikasa are already here and Levi’s in there and—_

I mumble an apology to Mrs. K before ducking inside and practically flying down the basement stairs. Everyone else is down there already: Mikasa’s on the sofa, idly flicking through a magazine, Armin’s sat at his keyboard, anxiously twisting the volume knob back and forth, and Jean’s tuning his bass. Levi is stood by the stairs, looking around with both hands clasped behind his back.

“Hey!” I breathe. “Hey, I’m here.”

Mikasa drops her magazine and sits up. She notices Levi - possibly for the first time since he walked in - and she eyes him with all the venom I was wholeheartedly expecting but nonetheless dreading. Armin looks a little awkward, almost like he’s intruding on Levi’s space instead of the other way around.

“Guys,” I say, braving a smile, “This is Levi.”

“Levi, huh?”

_Here we go._

Mikasa lifts herself from the couch, striding purposefully towards us, heavy Doc Marten footsteps on hardwood floor. Anyone else would probably piss themselves watching her cross the room like this, but Levi remains cool, arms folding across his chest.

“It’s you,” says Mikasa, stopping a few metres away from Levi. “Eren didn’t tell me it was _you.”_

“Mika—” I start, but her glare moves from Levi to me fast enough to make me shut up.

“Yeah,” says Levi. Mikasa folds her arms, mirroring him, and if I wasn’t so scared that my sister was about to kick the ass of my cool new friend I might have laughed at how similar they look.

“Yeah,” he says again. “And Eren has chosen to forgive me for the way I behaved at The Barracks, so perhaps you can too. It wasn’t a good day for me.”

“It wasn’t a good day for Eren, either.”

“I understand that.”

Mikasa’s not the kind of girl to blow her lid that often - that prize goes to me. She closes her eyes and takes in a long, slow breath.

“Explain to me why you said what you did,” she says, “And I’ll decide whether you deserve any of my respect.”

Levi nods. No threats, so sarcasm, no fear or misunderstanding - just like that, he seamlessly does what he’s told.

“I thought you were the band who played _Hey Jude,”_ he says. “And they sucked, so I thought I might as well tell them, since I’d had a shitty enough day to not want to listen to shitty music at the end of it. I was wrong for not giving Eren the chance to explain that he was in a different band, but luckily we ended up in the same lecture a couple of days after. We made amends.”

Levi digs into the pocket of his jeans, squirts hand sanitiser into his palm and holds it outstretched to Mikasa.

“We don’t suck,” she says firmly, and shakes Levi’s hand. “But I’ll let it slide. Offend Eren again and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Got it.”

The tension dissipates to the sound of Levi and Mikasa cleaning their hands with the sanitiser.

“I’m sorry,” says Jean pointedly, sticking a hand up in the air, “But what the fuck just happened?”

“None of your business, Horseface,” says Levi. Mikasa snorts.

With the possibility of conflict gone, I have the chance to show Levi around properly. I give him the full tour: the posters, the peeling sofa, the vinyls and the instruments. We move around the room, and Levi’s eyes land on the ODMG. It’s hung up forlornly on the metal rigging, the harness swinging side to side when I reach over and poke it.

“What’s all that?” Levi asks, gesturing towards the rig. I roll my eyes.

“That,” I explain, “is the stage gear we use. Jean built it, and it’s supposed to be great—” I hear Jean tut behind me — “But something happened to it at our last competition. _Someone_ happened to it.”

“And someone’s gonna _pay_ for it,” bites Jean. “You know. With money. Because now I need spare parts I don’t have.”

Levi nods, ghosting a finger over the black rope harness. “I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

I proudly present Lucy like she’s a trophy - she might as well be, with the amount of prizes I’ve won with her - and he nods along, stopping to have a better look when I point out my dad’s old record player.

“Did he teach you how to play?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I nod, and feel a swell of pride that he’s asking. Most people like to think I’m self-taught - angry, determined Eren practicing until his fingers fall off in his room alone - but that’s not how it was. And I’m glad Levi wants to know. “I started on his 1972 Fender when I was eight. Lucy’s a Gibson, he got her for me when I was twelve.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

“He was.”

The last word drops out of my mouth, and Levi’s face falls like he’s stepped in a puddle with no shoes on. I lift a hand to stop the inevitable apology, the ensuing _Oh-God-I’m-so-sorry-how-terrible-and-awful-for-you,_ but it never comes. He nods sympathetically, and we breathe in together before moving on.

“There’s only really one thing left to show you,” I say, steering him back around. “The band.”

The three of them wave, murmuring a collective ‘hey’.

“You know Armin already, he’s our synth wizard.”

Armin turns up the volume on his keyboard and plays the opening chords to Van Halen’s _Jump._ Levi smirks, lips curling up in amusement.

“Nice to see you again, Armin.”

“You too, Levi!”

I grin, and turn to Jean: “That’s Jean Kirschtein, our bassist and equine lookalike. He’s not that bad under that bushy mane, are ya?”

I reach up to scrub Jean’s jelled hair, and he slaps my hand away. “Hey, piss off!”

“Oh, and of course, my sister Mikasa.”

Mikasa towers over Levi in her Docs, and picks up her drumsticks to rap them lightly against his head. “Nice centre parting, dude.”

“Get those filthy drumsticks off me, brat,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re worse than your brother.”

Mikasa cackles, and skips over to her drum kit. “Hear that, Eren? Worse than you.”

Levi turns to me again, eyebrows lifted. “Go on then. Introduce yourself.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You introduced everyone else. I wanna hear what you have to say for yourself.”

The others look at me. I feel Levi’s steady, cloud-grey gaze waiting for me, expecting. I pick Lucy up and sling her strap around my shoulders.

Now’s the time. With Levi’s eyes on me like this, I’ve been given the perfect chance to show him how amazing The 104th is. No crowd, no stage, no ODMG.

“You know my name,” I say, deciding on a song. I whisper it to each of my bandmates. “All that’s left to introduce is what I do right here.”

I plug Lucy into the amps, twiddle the frets, adjust my capo. I strum experimentally. _Perfect._

“Have a seat, Levi.”

He sits down like clockwork, studying me closely. I start strumming, measuring his reaction - nothing yet, of course, but he’s watching me. That’s all that matters. I don’t want him to take his eyes off me for even a second.

I nod to Mikasa, and she swings in with the drums. I accompany her along in a steady beat, pull the microphone forward, press my mouth against it as the lyrics start spilling from my lips.

_“This ain’t a song for the broken-hearted,_   
_No silent prayer for the faith-departed.”_

I lean forward and strum quick, powerful chords, stamping my foot to the rhythm of Mikasa’s bass drum. I feel the shockwaves of energy through my blood, the music ripped out of my lungs, I hear the distant roar of a crowd and see the blur of a hundred pair of hands in the air.

_“I ain’t gonna be another face in the crowd,_   
_You’re gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud—”_

I’m singing nothing but the truth to Levi. I want to be heard - no, I _need_ to be heard. I need to sing as loud as I can, because when life handed me a pile of shit and no shovel I chose to scream. I chose to push my way forward with the weight on my back, roaring, spitting fire and defying heartache. I’m young and reckless and stupid, but I’m determined to claw back at least some of what I think I deserve. _That’s_ what I want Levi to see.

_“It’s my life, it’s now or never!_   
_I ain’t gonna live forever—_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—”_

I press my foot against Lucy’s amplifier and bend my knee, my throat burning. I feel hot, wild, uncaged - I can feel the sweat gathering on my forehead, my heart beating violently under my skin. I look around at my bandmates, all playing like their lives depend on it, teeth gritted in a concentrated grin as we shake the room to its core.

_“My heart is like an open highway,_   
_Like Frankie said, I did it my way,_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—_   
_It’s… my… life!”_

It’s hard to read Levi’s expression, and my hair is falling in front of my face to obscure my view - but I can see the hint of a smile on his lips and a sparkle of interest in his eyes. He gazes right at me purposefully, and I feel my confidence renewed.

_“This is for the ones who stood their ground,_   
_For Tommy and Gina, who never backed down,_   
_Tomorrow’s getting harder, make no mistake,_   
_Luck ain’t enough, you gotta make your own breaks—”_

I remember this song being new at the age of two or three, sat in the passenger seat of my dad’s van while he belted out the lyrics over the radio. I remember being four and five and six, learning the song off by heart, being eight or nine and noticing how the lyrics made so much _sense._ I remember being ten and driving home from the hospital after Mom’s prognosis, screaming the words together through our tears.

_“It’s my life, it’s now or never!_   
_I ain’t gonna live forever—_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—_

_“My heart is like an open highway,_   
_Like Frankie said, I did it my way,_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—_   
_It’s… my… life!”_

I tear away from the microphone and launch into a solo, my hands working the fretboard furiously. I step forward towards Levi, and he leans in where he’s sitting so we’re face-to-face. The way he watches me is electric - the thrill of peering over the edge, the indescribable seconds before a plane takes off.

I’m hooked.

So is he.

_“You better stand tall when they’re calling you out—”_

I swipe my hair off my forehead. Our eyes lock and I feel my pulse rise another few beats.

_“Don’t bend, don’t break - baby, don’t back down.”_

We crash into the last chorus, and Jean twirls around so we can play back-to-back. I’m grinning hopelessly wide, free falling into each chord change, the music filling our sails and sweeping us out over the rolling waves. I’m giddy.

_“It’s my life, it’s now or never!_   
_I ain’t gonna live forever—_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—_

_“My heart is like an open highway,_   
_Like Frankie said, I did it my way,_   
_I just wanna live while I’m alive—_   
_It’s… my… life!”_

We strike the last chord, and Levi doesn't break my gaze. His usually narrowed eyes are shining, the reflections of light piercing through them like little swishing swords, and he’s smiling - a soft, inviting smile with a hint of something else, something unusual and restless like wildfire. I’m breathing hard, my heart slamming against my chest, my voice already aching. Everything feels heavy and deep, the silence cacophonous like the immediate moments after a crashing storm.

“Not bad,” says Levi.

I breathe out a shaky laugh. It feels like the highest praise I’ve ever received.

“Hey… earth to Jaeger,” says Jean. I don’t want to look away, I don’t want the spell to break, but Jean’s tugging at the back of my sweater.

“What?”

He turns to me and holds out his hand. I slap it with my own, and he offers me a toothy grin.

“Well, Levi,” he says assuredly, “If you liked that, there’s plenty more where it came from. I’m gonna be the one at the front at our next competition.”

“Shame,” Levi replies. He’s still looking at me.

“Hey!” barks Jean. “I’ll have you know I can sing just as well as Eren, if not better.”

“Way to promote the _band,_ Jean,” mumbles Mikasa behind her drums. Playing seems to have mellowed her out a little, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Armin stands up from his keyboard, clasping his hands together. He gives Levi a smile, warm and sweet and cheerful, and I hope Levi likes that smile as much as I do.

“I’m glad you enjoyed hearing us play, Levi!” he chirps. “Thank you for coming!”

Levi’s eyes flicker to Armin. He stalls for a moment, as if hesitating on what to say, and then gives a small smile of his own.

“Thank you, too.”

He looks at me, still smiling.

My heart is full.

———

Levi stays for dinner, at the insistence of Mrs Kirschtein. It gives us the opportunity to exchange embarrassing stories, of which we’ve both got plenty - for some reason, Armin has a photographic memory of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.

“And _then_ of course,” Armin continues, much to my horror, “He decides he wants to bake a cake. In the middle of the field—”

Ah, yeah. The camping trip we took the summer after my 16th birthday. I remember hardly any of it - but hey, that’s what Armin’s here for, right?

“And of course we don’t have any flour, so he starts picking _flowers…”_

Jean and Mikasa are beside themselves laughing. They’ve heard this story a thousand times - they were there to watch it unfold - but something tells me their amusement is coming more from the look on my face than anything else.

Levi doesn’t laugh. When I look over at him, he meets my gaze with a quiet, entertained chuckle that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

I love the way it looks so much that the embarrassment melts away… and is replaced.

By what, I’m not quite sure. But I find myself so fond of the way Levi smiles that my heart kind of swells a little.

“That's nothing,” says Levi suddenly, and the laughter halts. We all turn to watch him expectantly, waiting for whatever might be next.

“One of my college friends was Scottish,” he explains. “One summer we went to Glasgow, and… well.”

Armin blinks. “Did you guys get drunk?”

Levi smirks. “I know my limits very well. I don’t get drunk. … Farlan and Isabel, however…”

We all lean forward towards him. He looks between us, the way one does when recounting a legend. The silent anticipation hangs heavy between us.

“I woke up with a sheep in my hotel room the next morning.”

We all splutter uncontrollable giggles, staring at him incredulously.

“You’re not serious, right?” asks Mikasa.

“Dead serious.”

“A _sheep?”_

“Yes. A Highland sheep. Right there in my room, shitting up the place—”

Armin clamps a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from laughing right into an asthma attack.

“Did you get kicked out?” I ask, once I have enough air in my lungs to talk.

Levi nods. “Well. The police were involved. Farlan got arrested for petty theft and property damage and ended up banned from Glasgow, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?”

My ribs and mouth ache from how much I’m laughing.

“Man,” breathes Jean, “You gotta take this Farlan guy drinking with us sometime.”

Levi says nothing.

His smile fades, his expression clouding over with some sudden affliction. Jean seems to have hit a nerve he didn’t know was there.

Armin senses it too, and he hastily offers Levi the last slice of pizza. He declines it politely and stands.

“Thank you all for having me,” he says quietly - a measured response. The atmosphere isn’t what it was. “I have to go, I’m afraid. I have work in the morning.”

He waves to each of us, collects his satchel and hops up the stairs. We hear a muffled thanks to Mrs. Kirschtein, footsteps, and the heavy front door being pulled shut.

I stare up at the steps.

“Wow… weird guy, huh?” says Jean.

———

**Me**   
_Why’d you leave so suddenly earlier??_

**Me**   
_Did Jean offend you_

**Me**   
_I totally get it he offends me all the time LOL_

I’m laying in bed, holding my phone above me. Levi doesn’t respond for almost ten minutes, and I consider sending another message when I drop the phone flat on my face.

“Eren?”

I scramble to lift my phone off my cheek and stare at it accusingly. It takes me a moment to realise I managed to accidentally press the ‘call’ button. With my face.

“Levi!” I say, “I… uh. I nose-dialled you.”

“I haven’t heard of that one before. Are you sure that’s a thing?”

“Pretty sure it’s a thing.”

Levi chuckles. “Well… since we’re talking, I might as well reassure you that Horseface didn’t offend me.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Then why’d you leave so fast?”

“I told you,” he says pointedly. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I hear him breathe in. I go to say something else, but he gets there first.

“I had a good time, Eren. You played well. Thank you.”

My cheeks flush - with pride, or something like that.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, of course, yeah. We loved having you, man. My friends think you’re lit.”

“Hm. I’m glad.”

I sense a hint of amusement in his voice, and I wonder if that small smirk is playing at his lips.

“Goodnight, Eren. See you Monday.”

I find myself smiling ear to ear. “Night, Levi.”

I hear the click of the call being disconnected, and this time I let my phone fall onto my face. My cheeks are still warm, and when I turn over and slap my phone down on the side-table, it only takes a few cozy minutes to fall fast asleep.

———

“What is it? Show me, you stingy bastard!”

Saturday sees us gathered in The 104th HQ again. Jean’s holding a piece of paper above my head where I can’t reach - on it, the theme for The Barracks’ upcoming band battle.

Jean’s hoping for a romantic theme, for once in his life. The competition is mid-February, the day before Valentine’s, so it’s a perfect opportunity for him to seduce Marco.

The thought of Jean successfully seducing anyone is kind of hilarious to me.

I pinch at the air near Jean’s head, standing up on tiptoes to grapple for the poster unsuccessfully. There’s a flash of dark hair and a yelp of pain as Mikasa kicks Jean in the shins and rips the paper from his hands, taking it for herself and slumping on the sofa to read it. Jean whimpers like a wounded kitten.

“Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” she reads, and then stares up at us.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” says Jean, trying to snatch it back. He earns himself Mikasa’s elbow in his ribs.

“The Beatles’ song…” I murmur. I remember Levi mentioning The Beatles a few times, as if he listened to them.

Armin, who up to now had been practically silent, steps forward assuredly. “It’s easy.”

“Huh?”

“Lonely Hearts Club Band,” he says. “A band of lonely hearts. Pining. Longing. Wanting someone.”

Jean’s face goes the shade of the sofa.

Mikasa groans, and hands Armin the poster before slouching down on the cushions. "What kind of straight nonsense is that?"

“Might not be straight nonsense,” says Jean, a little too fast. He motions for the poster again and Armin hands it to him wordlessly. “Might be… might be gay nonsense.”

“He wants to seduce Marco,” I say helpfully. “And _you_ owe me thirty bucks, Mikasa Jaeger.”

“Hey!” Jean cries, rolling up the poster and smacking me over the head with it. “You asshole!”

“They’d have to know eventually,” I tell him, lips curled into a smirk. “I had money on it!”

I look over at Mikasa and Armin. Armin has a hand politely over his mouth to stifle his giggles. I reach towards Mikasa for my reward.

“Not until he’s actually confessed,” she hisses, and I whine at her. She ignores me and turns to Jean. “So you figured it out, huh? That you're a big ol' gay just like the rest of us?”

“I’m bisexual!” Jean shrieks. “…I think. Shut up.”

“He’s Marcosexual.”

That earns me another smack with the poster, but it’s worth it for Jean’s mortified expression.

After what seems like hours of Jean rifling through the box of vinyls, we finally manage to settle on a song for him.

“Flirty, but not too clingy. Pining but not hopeless. Something I want but can’t have.”

He holds up the record.

_Jessie’s Girl_ by Rick Springfield.

Armin nods enthusiastically. Mikasa rolls her eyes, but lifts two thumbs in silent agreement.

“Isn’t that a bit too… heterosexual?” I ask.

Mikasa gives me a look.

“Everything’s too heterosexual, Eren,” she says dryly. “We take what we can get.”

———

We play _Jessie’s Girl_ until we're sick to death of it - apart from Jean, of course, who’s taken it upon himself to micromanage every tiny detail of the performance until he’s satisfied.

“Jean,” I can’t help but inform him, “We haven’t even made it into the competition yet. Prelims aren’t for another two weeks.”

“But we will,” assures Jean, a glint in his eyes so fierce it makes Armin step backwards away from him. “Oh, we will.”

By the time we’re back home and crashing into bed, I realise I haven't checked my phone almost all day. There’s a new notification:

**Levi - 2:56pm**   
_This is Ilse._

Attached is a photo of a young German Shepherd, mid tail-wag, a mop clasped firmly in her jaw. Pressed against her front is a cardboard sign in Levi’s handwriting, which reads: _KEEPS CHEWING MY CLEANING SUPPLIES._

The photo brings an instant smile to my face. I roll onto my front and start tapping.

**Me**   
_She looks so precious OMG. Is she yours??_

Levi only takes a few moments to reply.

**Levi**   
_Technically my roommate’s. And don’t be fooled, she’s a weapon of mass destruction._

It hadn’t occurred to me that Levi might be house-sharing. He seems so solitary that he’d have to have buckets of patience to deal with whoever the roommate happens to be.

**Me**   
_I bet she likes belly rubs_

**Levi**   
_Adores them. It’s such a drag having to rub her belly and scratch her head and kiss her all the time. Unbelievable burden. Maybe you should come round soon and help me shoulder it._

**Me**   
_Really???_

**Levi**   
_Of course._

I tug my duvet further around myself and feel a familiar warmth and happiness seep through my body. Levi saw my space, my home from home at the band HQ, and now he wants to show me his?

Maybe I didn’t mess it up.

Maybe Levi Ackerman thinks I’m _cool._

———  
Information To Disclose;  
 _It’s My Life_ was the first single from the album _Crush_ by New Jersey rock band Bon Jovi. The song is arguably their most well known post-1980s hit single and it has been performed live at almost all shows since its release. It has the distinction of making Bon Jovi one of the only groups from the 1980s glam-rock/metal era to reach the international charts after the year 2000.  
———


	5. Wings of Libertea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan has been hatched for Jean to confess to Marco, but an unexpected result in the semi-final gives The 104th even greater cause to take the crown in the Valentine’s Day competition. Meanwhile, Eren and Levi have been unexpectedly paired together for the first major assignment of the semester - on the advice of his professor, this might be a good time for Eren to get to know Levi a little better… but the pressure’s mounting once more. Can Eren deliver what everybody wants of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO.
> 
> This chapter’s ironically being posted on the day of the Ereri Summer Week’s band/idol AU theme. Go check out that event if you haven’t already!
> 
> This week’s installment includes biscuits, tea, Hanji, a dog and a corrupt professor, not in that order at all. Enjoy!
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr)

“Hey, Levi.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“What's your favourite psychological study?”  
  
It's another cold Monday in the tail end of January, five days until the preliminary rounds to decide who will successfully enter the Valentine’s competition next month. The occupants of Professor Smith’s 10am lecture are yawning and wriggling in their seats while he boots up his laptop for a presentation. He’s wearing a Hawaiian floral print tie.  
  
Next to me, Levi is flicking idly through his notes. I stretch my hands out above my head, my sweater pulling up slightly around my waist.  
  
“Zimbardo, without a doubt,” he says. “Most fucked-up social experiment in history. Revealed what most people know but never wanted to admit.”  
  
He leaves his notes alone and folds his arms, turning his head to look at me. “You?”  
  
“I dunno, man,” I shrug. “The Milgram one’s pretty juicy too.”  
  
“That’s true,” Levi says with a nod. “So is that the one you’ll do for the ethical principles assignment?”  
  
“Depends who I’m paired with,” I reply nonchalantly.   
  
In truth, I’ve been praying to every god I can think of - and some superheroes to boot - that I’ll be paired with Levi. I don’t want him to know that, obviously - but I can’t imagine being able to tolerate working with anyone else.  
  
“I’ve decided that for the best statistical results, the assignment pairings will be totally random,” says the professor, and just about every cell in my body dies a little. Welp, there goes that idea.  
  
I look over at Levi, who’s rolling his eyes as Professor Smith starts shuffling around the hall with a bucket of name slips. He makes his way to us and pauses.  
  
“Now, of course, for the most representative data, your findings should be completely unbiased,” he says, guiding mind and Levi’s hands into the bucket. “And, they should come from as large a sample size as possible.”  
  
I feel him slip a piece of paper into my hand, and my fingers curl around it. I look up curiously, and he nods.   
  
“You got that, Eren? Levi?”  
  
We both mumble a bewildered affirmative. Professor Smith grins and moves on along the row.  
  
“What… what just happened?” I ask Levi. He shrugs, and we both unfold our slips.  
  
_Levi,_ reads mine, and when I look over at his: _Eren._  
  
“He set us up,” Levi states, leaning back in his chair. “On purpose. Tch. Lying bastard.”  
  
I’m grinning so wide my cheeks start to hurt.   
  
———  
  
“I suppose you’ve come to ask me why.”  
  
I nod, holding my tongue until the last few students stream out of the hall.  
  
Professor Smith smiles up at me, hands clasped together on his lap. I stare awkwardly at the flowers on his tie.  
  
“I paired you and Levi together on purpose, yes,” he says. “I’ll admit it was probably not very objective of me. But Levi and I have been friends for many years.”  
  
“Yeah,” I say, my thumbs running along the underside of my backpack straps. “He mentioned that.”  
  
“Did he?” The professor raises a brow, still smiling. “I’m quite flattered… Anyway. Levi…”  
  
He pauses, and the corners of his mouth drop a little.  
  
“Have a seat, Eren.”  
  
I slide down cautiously into the chair opposite the desk, and Professor Smith takes this as an invitation to proceed.  
  
“You and Levi have a lot in common. I won’t go into details, as they’re his to tell rather than mine - but like you, Levi has suffered great personal hardship in his short lifetime.”  
  
I swallow. My tongue feels gummy in my mouth, my lips jammed together.  
  
_It wasn’t a very good day for me._  
  
That could have meant anything, and the tone the professor’s taking now suggests it wasn’t something trivial. It stings, because as someone who was an orphan by the age of sixteen, I tend to expect the worst of a line like that.  
  
“I was going to introduce him to you myself,” Professor Smith continues, through the roaring in my head, “but it seems you gravitated towards each other naturally.”  
  
He offers me another smile - gentle and sincere.   
  
“I’m very grateful that you’ve made an effort to befriend him. I knew you would eventually, being the kind young man you are, but…”  
  
He presses his fingers together pensively.  
  
“Levi needs a friend like you now more than ever.”  
  
_A friend like me?_  
  
“What do you mean?” I ask, my eyes flitting between my beaten-up shoes and the professor’s purposeful gaze. “I’m just a random band kid. I don’t really know what I’ve got to offer a guy like Levi.”  
  
Professor Smith chuckles.  
  
“That is how I _know_ you’ve only met him a few times. Eren, you are precisely what Levi needs. Someone strong but compassionate, helpful and fearless. Someone full of life.”  
  
This time I do hold his gaze, somehow unable to believe the description he’s giving me.  
  
“Geez, Professor,” I reply sheepishly, “Thank you a whole lot, that means a great deal to me, but… I’m not even sure I qualify as a good college student.”  
  
“As your predominant lecturer I am inclined to disagree.”  
  
I give a smile of my own.  
  
“I’ll do my best to be a good friend to Levi, Professor.”  
  
He nods, “And a good study partner?”  
  
I grin. “Best study partner he’s ever had.”

———

As soon as I’m out of the lecture hall, Armin waves me down in the parking lot. He’s hopping up and down on his feet, breath clouding his face like a puffing steam train.  
  
“Hey, man. Sorry I’m late.”  
  
Armin greets me with a quick hug before hustling me towards his pristine little Suzuki.   
  
“No problem. Jean’s blowing up my phone a bit, but it’s no big.”  
  
I grin, slinging my backpack into the boot. “Jeez, he needs to learn some patience.”  
  
I look up, and my gaze lands on someone leaning against a lamppost towards the front of the parking lot. They’re tapping their hand against their hip while they wait, messy brown hair swirling around their face in the cold air.  
  
“Levi!”  
  
I blink. For a second I'm wondering if I heard the name right - but sure enough, Levi’s dodging through the sea of parked cars to reach the stranger.  
  
“There you are, silly! Come on.”  
  
To my astonishment, the two share a hug before they link arms and begin to walk down the pathway leading off campus.  
  
My heart feels a little strange.  
  
He never told me he had a partner.  
  
It’s not like I care, obviously, because… well, of course Levi has someone, he’s Levi, cool and collected and… objectively very handsome.  
  
“Eren? Hello?”  
  
Armin’s waving his hand in front of my face. I snap out of my thoughts, and we slide into the car.  
  
“You okay there? You seemed super spaced out for a sec. I was thinking I might have to throw ice down your back.”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
_“Eren.”_  
  
I shake my head. “I’m okay! I’m fine, Armin, honest.”  
  
I buckle my seatbelt, and Armin eventually lets me off the hook and starts to drive.   
  
I unhook my phone from my pocket and check my notifications.  
  
**Mika - 11:12am**  
 _Why didn't you take your hat and scarf? It’s cold._   
  
**Horseface - 11:52am**  
 _eren you’d better not be late_  
  
**Horseface - 12:03pm**  
 _eren get your bitch ass here already_  
  
**Horseface - 12:05pm**  
 _EREN_   
  
I fire off an excuse to Mikasa about not wanting to get too hot in my lecture. By the time I switch to Jean’s message window, he’s called me.  
  
“Jean, we’re in the car.”  
  
“Hurry up!”  
  
I roll my eyes, and Armin reluctantly puts his foot down a little.  
  
“Stop being such a jerk. Marco’s not gonna find a new man in the time it takes us to drive to HQ.”  
  
“He might!”  
  
Armin laughs, and I hear Jean groan down the line.   
  
“Whatever,” says Jean. “Since we’re talking I might as well ask you how your morning went.”  
  
“It was okay.”  
  
“How's Loverboy Levi?”  
  
Armin snorts embarrassingly loudly next to me. If he wasn't driving I would have elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
“Shut the hell up, Jean!”  
  
I hear Jean cackle obnoxiously. “Come on, Jaeger. Levi's great. I’m all in favour of you banging him.”  
  
I feel unwanted heat rushing up to my face. “I’m gonna beat your ass when we get there, Horseface. Levi’s not even…”  
  
“Not even what?”  
  
I purse my lips. I’m not even sure why I’m still talking about this.  
  
“He’s… way out of my league.”  
  
Both Jean and Armin scoff at once. This time the blush is more of a pleasant, flattered tingle.  
  
“Bullshit. Nobody’s out of your league, Eren. Except me.”  
  
I’m grinning. “Whatever.”  
  
———  
  
About halfway through practice, I get a text from Levi. I drag my sweaty hands down my jeans and imagine the disgusted look on his face as I pick up my phone, no hand sanitiser in sight. I never professed to be a saint, after all.  
  
**Levi - 1:44pm**   
_You free this evening?_  
  
I've never responded to a text so fast in my life.  
  
**Me**  
 _Yeah, why??_  
  
**Levi**  
 _Thought you might want to come over and get a head start on the assignment. You’ll get to meet Ilse._  
  
I chew the inside of my cheek. My heart churns at the possibility of running into that partner of his, too, but I bite the bullet and accept.  
  
**Me**  
 _Sure, what time?_  
  
———  
  
It doesn't take me long to get to Levi’s. He lives on the same side of the city as Jean’s folks, and I’m able to catch the bus service that runs around Trost. A short walk with the help of my phone to navigate leads me to a pretty little terraced house.  
  
2b Birch Crescent.  
  
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I stroll up to the front door as smoothly as possible and pull the knocker back, rapping it swiftly a couple of times. There's an array of window baskets hanging above the door, arranged to acute precision - undoubtedly Levi’s - and my thoughts of which flowers might be his favourite are interrupted when he opens the door.  
  
“Levi with an R,” I grin.  
  
His mouth turns up in a smirk, and he folds his arms over his chest. “Jaeger with a J. Come in.”  
  
I shuffle in behind him, and notice first a sign on the wall that gives very particular instructions on where to put shoes. After I’ve removed them, labelled them and put them in the correct numbered cubbyhole, I finally make it to the hall.  
  
The next sign I see is a little different.   
  
_FOUR-EYES USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS. RESPECT THEM OR YOUR ASS WILL BE KICKED._  
  
I tilt my head, unsure of who this Four-Eyes is, until the person I’d seen in the parking lot no more than six hours ago comes bursting into the hall to grab my shoulders and stare right at me.  
  
Seeing them this close allows me to get a better look than the fleeting impression I’d gotten earlier. They’ve got soft, cinnamon brown eyes and hair to match, wisping around their face in messy strands, tanned skin but rosy cheeks. They gaze into my eyes for a long, agonising moment, before punctuating the silence with an awestruck, breathless whisper.  
  
“Eren? This is Eren?”  
  
“Uh… yeah?”  
  
They stare at me with nothing short of reverence, before cupping my cheeks and pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.  
  
“I’ve heard so much about you!” they cry, the sound slightly muffled with my ear against their sweater. They hold me like that for some time, squishing me until I’m certain I’ve lost use of my arms completely.  
  
When they finally let me go, Levi is behind them with folded arms and an amused smirk.  
  
“Eren, this is Hanji. Don’t mind them, they do this to practically everyone.”

Hanji pulls a horrified face, “Don’t you dare sell me out, Levi Ackerman! Eren is special!”

Before I can say anything, they’re clasping my chin and kissing both of my cheeks. “Those eyes… You’re even more beautiful than how Levi described you.”

It takes me a couple seconds to realise what that means.

I look over Hanji’s shoulder for Levi, but he seems to have disappeared into the kitchen. I hear shuffling, the heavy slide of a patio door, and the tell-tale rattling of a dog collar charm as a recognisable German Shepherd comes bounding towards me.

“Ilse!”

She hears her own name and jumps up at me with enthusiasm rivalled only by Hanji a few moments earlier. I grin and press my nose against the top of her head, and she lifts her muzzle to lick at my face.

“Don’t - don’t let her do that, Eren, it’s dirty,” I hear Levi say. It’s too late - I’m completely gone, and in a few seconds I’m sat cross-legged on the floor rubbing Ilse’s belly.

“Can I live here?” I ask jokingly, and Hanji bursts out an affirmative. Ilse rolls over to lay face-up on the carpet.

“Tch. I only cleaned that yesterday, silly dog,” Levi mutters, kneeling down beside me. He curls a hand in Ilse’s fur and she twists her head to look at him.

I realise I only have one opportunity to ask the inevitable. I look up at Hanji while Levi is distracted.

“So, uh… how long have, uh… how long have you two been… together?”

Hanji’s eyes widen. Levi’s hand freezes, much to Ilse’s chagrin. They both turn to stare at me.

The first break in the silence is a loud, unmistakable crow of laughter from Hanji, followed by raucous giggles.

Levi looks up to glare at them, “Okay, Hanji. Not that funny.”

“Oh—” they snort, “but it is. You really thought I was dating this grumpy midget, Eren?”

I’m not sure how to react. My face starts to burn. _Goddamn it, I’m such an idiot._

“My roommate,” explains Levi. “I mentioned them over text. Whatever gave you the impression that Hanji and I were dating?”

I stare downwards, focusing on Ilse’s little wet nose. “I… I don’t know, I just… I spotted you after class in the parking lot, and you were…”

I trail off. Hanji sits down opposite me and lets Ilse lick slobbery patches over their hand.

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” they say kindly. “I can see why it might have looked that way from a distance, but Levi and I are just pals. Have been for years, haven’t we?”

“Shut up, Four-Eyes.”

“See?”

The embarrassment of my faux pas starts to melt away, and we sit there for a little while, lavishing attention on the puppy rolling across the floor.

“Besides,” grins Hanji proudly, “I have a boyfriend.”  
  
“You do?” I ask, not that I don’t believe it - they’re a ray of sunshine, even if they are a little too much for Levi.  
  
“Yeah! His name’s Moblit, wanna see a picture?”  
  
“Sure, ah—”  
  
“Sorry to interrupt,” drawls Levi, “but Eren and I have work to do and I know we’ll be sitting here some hours if you start going on about Moblit.”  
  
I smirk over at Levi, “That looks like the face of a man who hears all too much about this Moblit guy.”  
  
Hanji pushes their glasses up their nose with the same hand Ilse was licking. I see Levi’s nose scrunch in disgust.  
  
“Whatever, grouchypants,” they beam. “You’ll get it when you fall in love.”  
  
“Tch.”  
  
———  
  
When Hanji’s bounced out with Ilse for a walk, Levi sets up the dining table for us to work. He brews a pot of tea and sets it delicately between us, placing an ornamental teacup, saucer and spoon by my folder. He pours the tea himself - obviously making the assumption that I would spill it - before fetching a plate of neatly-arranged cookies and placing them down by the teapot.  
  
“Help yourself to biscuits.”  
  
I stare down at the plate. The cookies are round and thin and have nothing in or on them except for an embossed design and some lettering I can’t quite read.  
  
“Biscuits, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Levi confirms, sliding into his seat. “They’re called rich tea biscuits. They’re meant for dipping in your tea, like this.”  
  
He demonstrates, lifting a biscuit delicately in his fingers before lowering it halfway into his cup. He holds it for a few seconds before removing it again and holding it out for me to try.  
  
I lean forward and bite into it.  
  
It tastes soft and sweet - not quite like the sugar-loaded, melting macadamia nut I might get from Jean’s mom, but it’s comforting and tastes just enough of the tea it was dunked into.  
  
“Good?” Levi asks, and I nod. I breathe in to talk, but Levi raises a hand. “Not with your mouth full.”  
  
Once I’m done chewing, Levi hands me the remaining half of the cookie to try in my own tea.  
  
“Where’d you get these?”  
  
“The British tea shop in Little Berlin,” Levi says. “This is English breakfast tea, which is why we’re having these biscuits. But they have all sorts of flavours. Ever tried chamomile?”  
  
I shake my head. “My sister makes green tea sometimes, but I’m not so into it.”  
  
“Ah, yeah. Green tea is nice.”  
  
I drop a sugar lump in my cup and stir it. I reach for another, but Levi slides the bowl away from me.  
  
“Not too much sugar, you’ll ruin it.”  
  
“You're pretty serious about your tea.”  
  
Levi hums, and offers me a small smile. “Of course. It’s one of the few things in life I get to do my way.”  
  
I grin at the familiarity of his sentiment. “Like me and my music?”  
  
“Maybe like that, yes.”  
  
We work for around an hour and a half before it’s completely dark outside and my concentration starts to wain. I stare blankly at our shared document, my stomach rumbling.  
  
“Time for dinner?” Levi asks softly, closing the lid on his own laptop.  
  
“You want me to stay?”  
  
Levi nods. “It would be nice to have company. Hanji’s over at Moblit’s for some absurd reason - who chooses Monday for a date night?”  
  
I grin, pulling out my phone to tap a message on our apartment-slash-band group chat.  
  
**Me**  
 _Yo. Don't need to save me dinner I’m eating with Levi_   
  
**Horseface**  
 _*eating out Levi_  
  
My cheeks flare with indignation. I thank God that Jean isn’t actually here - possibly for his sake more than mine, since I’d knock his stupid horse teeth out for a comment like that.  
  
**Me**  
 _Actually shut your face for once in your life_  
  
**Horseface**  
 _;-)_  
  
**Mika**   
_What time will you be back?_  
  
**Horseface**   
_never they’re eloping to the swiss alps_  
 _bye eren can i have your bedroom_   
  
**Me**  
 _You're literally the last person in the world i’d leave my room to but ok_  
 _I'll be back about 8 is that cool_  
  
**Horseface changed the chat name to: the one hundred and third because eren ran off with a pensioner**  
  
**Me**  
 _He's 28 and you’re a horse dong._  
  
I hear the clinking of teacups, and look up to see Levi clearing the table away.  
  
“You’ve gone red,” he observes, which really only has the effect of making me more red.  
  
“Just Jean,” I say, and Levi quirks a brow. “He likes to take the piss.”  
  
“Take the piss right back then.”  
  
I grin, and stand up to help Levi move the cups into the sink.   
  
We chat some more as we make dinner together. I tell him about how my parents came to adopt Mikasa; how we saved Armin from bullies in elementary school and have been friends with him ever since. I tell him about my mother’s cancer and my father’s suicide six years after that, and with each detail Levi pauses to look at me intently, somehow ensuring I know I have his full attention.  
  
“So now I have a bucketful of trauma and a really misguided sense of purpose and justice,” I conclude, straining the cooked pasta before serving it out equally on two plates.   
  
Levi hums, pouring on the tomato sauce. “You're strong,” he says. “Hopeful. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way you’re coping, Eren.”  
  
I snort. “I have depression and major anger management issues. I’m on meds just to stop myself from setting something on fire.”  
  
Levi takes both of the plates and carries them through to the dining table. “If I had a broken leg, I would expect to take medication to help me heal faster. If I had an infection, I would take antibiotics before it got any worse. It’s necessary to give yourself the right resources to get better as soon as possible.”  
  
Levi draws back a seat, and just when I think he’s going to sit on it he gestures at me instead.  
  
“Eren. Sit down before you give yourself a nosebleed from thinking too hard.”  
  
Something about the softness of Levi’s voice makes me comply, sitting down as he pushes the chair in securely against the table. He takes the seat opposite me, and offers me a small smile.  
  
“You're doing great.”  
  
I breathe in. My heart feels light, because although I’ve heard words like this plenty of times before, I’ve never quite heard them like this.  
  
“Thanks, Levi.”  
  
“No problem.”

———

Competitions are usually staged in three parts: there’s the preliminaries, the semi-finals and the finals. The prelims are the first filtering point - typically, around 30-40 bands from across the district will come and perform for a selection panel who then whittle that down by half. The remaining bands will play again a day or two after for the same panel - the semi-finals - who then decide the lineup out of six. No bands are allowed to watch the performances of their rivals, and two songs must be played: the song you want to play if you get into the finals, and a reserve. Our reserve is _It’s My Life,_ since we practiced it already, and I can’t deny the way my heart starts pumping at the memory of playing the song I chose for Levi.

This weekend, we’re up against a fairly standard assortment of bands. According to a couple veteran performers, the real talent doesn’t show itself until the weather heats up - which will give us enough room to sweep The Barracks’ regular band battles before fighting for a spot at the Trost Festival in the summer. We haven’t even been here a year, but we’ve built up a reputation of one of the most passionate groups in Trost since The Barracks reopened. Hannes told me he hasn’t seen a band like ours since my dad’s day.

We sweep through the prelims, as do Wings of Liberty. Jean’s giddy with excitement as he chatters to Marco that night over shared takeaway, and they lean across each other and make affectionate threats between mouthfuls of curry. Their noses bump as they lean across to grab their drinks at the same time, and Mikasa makes a loud request for a knife to cut the sexual tension with.

It all seems quite normal until the next afternoon.

We’re one of the first bands to perform, and we’re in and out of the performance hall before three-thirty. Wings of Liberty have the slot after us, and turn up five minutes later - we wish them luck as they bustle in. The mood is relaxed as we sip coffee in the green room, until a group of girls walk past and Armin freezes.

“That’s them,” he hisses at me. “That’s Crimson Arrow.”

I look over, and my eyes land right on the three girls. Historia Reiss adjusts her skirt and leans back against the wall. Ymir Fritz throws an arm around her petite girlfriend and glares daggers at anyone looking in their general direction. Annie Leonhart tunes her guitar, only looking up when Ymir barks across the room.

“Hey, Bertholdt! Stop jerking off to the sound of Reiner’s drumming and get the hell over here!”

We all snort, and a bright-red Bertholdt Hoover jogs over to his bandmates, jabbering incoherent excuses.

“Yikes,” drawls Jean next to me, “He’s not even straight and he’s that whipped by _three_ girls?”

Mikasa crosses her arms and lifts her legs to rest over my lap. I know better than to protest. “Yeah. Imagine a band where one girl has _three_ guys that whipped.”  
  
“Imagine,” Armin murmurs. His eyes flit down to Mikasa, now sprawled across all three of us.  
  
Annie finishes tuning and places her guitar down, eyes scanning the room. I jab Mikasa’s knees in an attempt to get her off me, but it’s no use. Annie looks right at me.

A noticeable chill runs through each of us. It’s like a bucket of water’s been dumped over my head, enough so I’m still sopping long after Annie’s rolled her eyes and followed her band to the performance hall.

———

By six o’clock, it’s already time to collect the result. It’s a simple system: the band’s ‘spokesperson’ - usually the lead singer - will receive a ranking and feedback from the panel, which they then take back to their band. If you’re numbered one to six, you made it in, and you go back up to confirm the next dates. If a band drops out, the band ranked seventh is awarded a place by default.

When I go up, I’m handed our feedback with a bright smile from the adjudicator. I check the number first: two.

We’re in.

_Particularly enthusiastic performance,_ the feedback sheet reads. _Dedication of lead singer is apparent, with a good interpretation of the theme._

I grin. Jean will be happy with that, at least.

I turn around to head out back to find the others, but I almost bump straight into Connie Springer as he jogs out of the bathroom. He’s clutching his feedback sheet in one hand and a clump of tissues in the other.

“Wh-oa, sorry Eren,” he says. I go to apologise, but he keeps on talking. “I just gotta— go, out this way, ‘cause uh—”

“Are you okay, man?”

“Yeah, dude! Just… Sasha.”

He waves, and starts walking back towards the green room. I catch a glimpse of his feedback sheet as he walks past.

I see the number eight.

_Oh, shit._

“Connie?”

I chase after him and turn into the green room, and find Wings of Liberty huddled on the sofa. Sasha’s crying into Reiner’s shoulder, and he draws back when we walk in to let Connie take his place.

Marco’s staring down at his shoes. Jean’s sitting on the armrest next to him, a hand around his waist, heads pressed together.

Armin appears next to me. My heart sinks down low in my chest despite our own near-perfect result in my hand.

“Two places out,” he says, and I nod.

“I-it’s not so bad,” snivels Sasha, her wobbling lips betraying her. “We get to watch.”

It’s a hard crash for a band that won last month’s competition, that’s for sure.

It only takes a couple of seconds for Sasha’s composure to break, and she collapses into Connie’s arms again.

“Shhh,” he soothes, carding his fingers through her ponytail. “It’s alright, babe. You did great. We did great.”

Marco lifts his head, an unusual frown clouding his freckled features. Jean takes hold of his hand and their fingers interlock.

“Geez,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, guys.”

Reiner squares his shoulders, watching silently over his exhausted band with a tense expression.

Mikasa is the next person to walk in, and she freezes, taking stock of the mood before wordlessly squishing on the sofa next to Marco and pulling Sasha into a tight hug. She looks up at me, and then down at the form in my hand. Sasha follows her gaze.

“Eren,” she says, her voice slightly hoarse. “How… how did you guys do?”

I hold the paper up to my face, rereading the comment. Armin peers over my shoulder, and his eyes show a flicker of excitement and then a noticeable guilt. I turn my head to look at him, and we come to an agreement without saying a word.

“We came second,” I say, turning the sheet over to show them.

The atmosphere changes almost instantly. Connie and Sasha jump up with excitement, rushing to hug me, and Reiner gives Armin a slap on the shoulder so hard he almost chokes.

Marco grins up at Jean, and they hover so close their noses touch. They laugh awkwardly and simultaneously dodge into a hug.

Mikasa stands and moves the crowd aside to wrap her arm around me.

“Let’s do it,” she says, looking between us. “For Wings of Liberty.”

“Yeah!” beams Connie. “Now we have someone to root for!”

I see the hope on each of their faces. It's hardly a coincidence that what I say next comes just as Crimson Arrow drift into the green room.

“We’ll win it,” I say, and I turn my head in time for Annie Leonhart to meet my gaze. “Promise.”

My hands clench. I look back at Jean, and he gazes at Marco before nodding at me.

“We’ll give everything we’ve got!”

———  
Information to Disclose;  
Zimbardo’s Stanford Prison Experiment (SPE) was a psychological study that took place in 1971. Young men were placed in a mock-up ‘prison’ environment and assigned roles as wardens and prisoners to assess the impact of imposed authority on the average person. The experiment, which was due to run for two weeks, was terminated after just six days after the wardens’ brutality towards the prisoners became unbearably severe. The study provided a graphic illustration of the power of situations to shape individuals' behaviour.  
———


	6. A Fella Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's showtime for Jean: he's about to step out on stage and declare his undying love for Marco through the power of rock and roll. Hopefully his courage will give the band the pull they need to win first place in the Valentine's competition.
> 
> Meanwhile, an unexpected revelation answers a lot of questions about Levi Ackerman, but there's plenty more that Eren wants to know. Maybe Levi's not so mysterious, after all - does this mean Eren has a chance at getting close to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's still wednesday somewhere in the world shut up
> 
> hello! chapter 6! I made Rick Springfield gay, are you happy now? 8D
> 
> This chapter includes Jeanmarco. A lot of that. Also, Ereri! Wait, you're only _here_ for Ereri? Damn. 
> 
> confession: I used the Glee version of _Jessie's Girl_ as inspo for The 104th cover. I can DO WHAT I WANT.
> 
> Also, Annie's band get a debut with some smooooth Arctic Monkeys, so enjoy. mmm.
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr)

“Eren, I can’t do this.”  
  
“Yes you can, Jean.”  
  
We’re up next. The stage is set, the instruments tuned, and Marco Bodt has a front-row place along with his band Wings of Liberty. We’re The 104th, and our bassist Jean Kirschtein is about to go out and confess his undying love to Marco with a song.  
  
Understandably, he’s kind of shot with nerves.  
  
“Come on, man,” I reassure him, hands squeezing his shoulders. “You were the one that kept saying how much of a good idea this was!”  
  
“That… that was before he was _out there,”_ Jean trembles, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Now I’m almost certain this is a really bad idea.”  
  
He tugs awkwardly on the seam of his t-shirt, pulling on a thread before it wisps away onto the floor.  
  
After last month’s disaster, our costumes are decidedly more normal. We’ve gone for our trademark styles - Jean’s in a pair of ripped jeans with his favourite Motley Crüe t-shirt, I’m wearing a camo jacket and my battered Converse. Armin’s in his best sweater vest - the one he wears to church, apparently - and Mikasa’s got her typical leather-and-Docs ensemble.  
  
“Think about it, Jean,” says Mikasa, strolling up behind him. “The audience will go crazy. Cute, nervous guy dedicating a song to another cute, nervous guy? It’s just what the fangirls want.”  
  
Jean breathes deeply. “Fuck… I need a cigarette.”  
  
“Cigarettes are gross and there’s no time,” says Mikasa, and Jean almost whines.  
  
“Besides,” I add, “If you smoke now, Marco will be able to taste it on you when you inevitably end up making out with him.”  
  
“Making out?!”  
  
Jean squeaks and turns the colour of Lucy’s bright-red casing, spinning away to pace up and down the room.  
  
“Way to go, Eren,” drawls Mikasa.  
  
“What? It’s true!”  
  
An announcer pops their head through the door with the five-minute warning, and we find Jean’s nervousness starts catching. Armin takes a few hesitant puffs of his inhaler, and I start chewing on my thumb as we move from the green room to the backstage area.  
  
I did invite Levi to see us, offering him a free ticket since Petra couldn’t make it this time. He said he’d try his best, and I wondered what that meant. In truth, I want him to watch me again more than anybody else. The rest of the audience would seem pale and irrelevant if I knew he was in it, watching me with eyes the colour of storm clouds.  
  
I swallow hard. I’m not sure what I’d find more nerve-wracking: the possibility of him being here or the possibility of him not.  
  
I know which I prefer, at least.  
  
One minute to go. The band before us finish playing and hurry through to the changing rooms - I see a peek of the audience through the curtain.  
  
I spot Wings of Liberty stood together, murmuring behind cupped hands. Marco gazes up at the stage hopefully, and Reiner nudges him and leans over to say something in his ear. There’s no sign of Levi yet.

Mikasa taps my shoulder and I turn around so we can huddle. It’s a pre-show tradition of ours - we allow ourselves five quick seconds of trading encouragement before we head out. We move in, heads together, and we wrap around Jean to try and soothe his nervous shaking.

“We’re gonna do it, we’re gonna win,” I tell them.

“For Wings of Liberty,” murmurs Mikasa.

“For Jean and Marco!” adds Armin, and Jean looks like he might cry.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his shivering slowing down. “Yeah.”

Ten seconds.

We share more brief hugs, clutching each other’s hands. I pick Lucy up and the curtain lifts.

The first few seconds are electric, as always. My pulse sky-rockets as the audience chants for us, my lungs pulling tight as I try to breathe through the nerves. My eyes adjust to the stage lighting, my heart lifts at the sight of the crowd I’ve come to adore - I start to see them, faces, hands. Smiles. My hands clasp tight around Lucy as I check she’s plugged in properly.

I feel the shivers run down my spine as the audience applauds, only silenced by Jean taking the microphone.

He prepared a short speech last night. He’s got a paper in his hand, and it’s shaking visibly.

“Uh…”

He looks back at me. I nod.

_Come on, you can do it._

“Hey, my name’s Jean. I play bass.”

The audience whoops and shouts, a few wolf whistles cutting through the noise. Jean’s the most popular member of our band, and he normally gives us no end of hell about it - but today, his eyes are glued to his cue card.

“I came out here to play for you all, but there’s something I have to say first. Since it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow and all.”

The crowd lets out a long, collective ‘ooh’ of intrigue, and I see Jean’s throat tighten as he swallows.

“I’m here to play for one person in particular. This… this is a song about wanting what you can’t have, longing for someone you know is out of your reach. For a long time, I’ve felt that way about someone in the audience tonight. I’ve just always been too scared to say so.”

Murmurs lift from the audience.

“I… I… d-don’t quite know how to say this, or whether my feelings will ever be returned. But…”

Jean’s eyes scan across the crowd, and then focus down on Wings of Liberty. The other band seem to know instinctively to push their bassist forward.

“Marco… this is for you.”

The audience goes wild. I watch Jean’s posture relax entirely, the weight lifted from him the second he locks eyes with Marco. Connie and Reiner are hollering, slapping Marco’s shoulders and nudging him. I feel all the hearts in the room soar as one.

It’s time.

I start the first chord sequence, and look over at Jean. He gives an incorrigible grin and starts to sing.

_“Jessie is a friend - yeah, I know he’s been a good friend of mine,_  
_But lately something’s changed that ain’t hard to define:_  
_Jessie’s got himself a girl, and I wanna make him mine._

_“Cause he’s watching her with those eyes—_  
_And he’s lovin’ her with that body, I just know it—_  
_And he’s holdin’ her in his arms, late late at night—”_

The change of pronouns goes down a storm with the audience, and Jean’s confidence seems to have returned in abundance. His voice is soft and husky in the mic as he sings, not keeping his eyes off Marco for even a second. I’d be inclined to call it disgusting if I wasn’t having so much fun.

_“You know I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_Where can I find a fella like that?”_

Armin joins us on his keyboard for the chorus, and I lean towards my own mic for the backing vocals. As we move into the second verse, the audience starts to clap along to the beat, a hundred pairs of hands above a hundred heads.

_“I play along with the charade,_  
_There doesn’t seem to be a reason to change,_  
_Y’know I feel so dirty when they start talkin’ cute,_  
_I wanna tell him that I love him, but the point is prolly moot—_

_“Cause he’s watching her with those eyes—_  
_And he’s lovin’ her with that body, I just know it—_  
_And he’s holdin’ her in his arms, late late at night—”_

_“You know I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_Where can I find a fella—_  
_Where can I find a fella like that?”_

Jean swings away from his mic as we start playing the bridge. It’s the perfect time for a little showcase, as there’s a solo for each of us - Armin’s first, pumping out power chords on his keyboard with a huge, dorky grin on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jean announces, gesturing to him, “Armin Arlert!”

The crowd cheers, and I see Armin’s shoulders lift as he giggles.

_“And I’m lookin’ in the mirror all the time, wonderin’ what he don’t see in me—_  
_I’ve been funny, I’ve been cool with the lines,_  
_Ain’t that the way love’s supposed to be?”_

Jean steps back to gesture to Mikasa, who’s working the pedal of her bass on each beat.

“Mikasa Jaeger!”

Mikasa drums a quick roll across her kit when she hears her name, tossing her sticks in the air and earning another loud round of applause.

_“Tell me!_  
_Where can I find a fella like that?”_

That’s my cue, and I pull away from my mic just in time to rip into a solo. It’s hard to see against the contrast of the stage light, but regardless of whether Levi is out there or not, I’m playing as if he is. I imagine the soft, expectant half-smile on his face, and I burst into a grin when I remember the disappointment he expressed when we told him I wasn’t singing today.

_I hope this is enough for you, Levi._

“And of course, Eren Jaeger!”

I lift my left hand to wave at the audience, offering them a fleeting bow before we reach the end of the song.

_“You know I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_I wish that I had Jessie’s love—!_  
_I want, I want Jessie’s love—!”_

We play the last chords, the vibrancy of the performance rippling across the hall as the music fades. The audience immediately goes nuts, jumping up where they stand and applauding wildly. Before we know what’s happening, Connie and Reiner have lifted Marco up on the stage and he’s reaching for Jean, overwhelmed tears rushing down freckled cheeks. Jean practically throws his guitar at Armin.

“Come here,” we hear him say, and he tugs Marco right into his arms. “I love you, Marco.”

“Oh, Jean, I love you too.”

It’s muffled, but the microphone catches it, and the audience gasp and squeal their support as Jean guides his best friend into their very first kiss.

———

We manage to sneak into the audience for the last performance, which happens to be Crimson Arrow’s debut. We stand at the front next to Wings of Liberty - obviously, since Jean and Marco are way too busy with their tongues down each other’s throats to pay much attention to whatever’s happening on stage right now.

Crimson Arrow come out on stage together, and the three girls immediately get a rise from audience for their dark makeup and punk outfits. A wolf whistle can be heard - almost certainly aimed for Historia - and Ymir flips the bird in the offender’s general direction before taking up her guitar.

Bertholdt’s their drummer, and he takes his place at the same kit Mikasa was playing on just ten minutes ago. Historia’s on bass, with Ymir as lead guitarist and backing vocalist. Annie’s their lead singer, of course.

If you think Jean or I can sing, you have not heard Annie. Annie Leonhart can _sing,_ like nothing else you’ve ever heard. She was never so much into playing with anyone else, which is why this band is a surprise, but her singing is indescribable. She’s got a huge, powerful vocal range, the kind of voice that’s perfect for husky ballads or wispy lullabies, and each time we got to hear her sing in class the whole lot of us would go crazy for it.

If there’s anything about Crimson Arrow that might threaten our chances in the competition, it’s Annie’s singing voice.

We wait with baited breath as the band take up their instruments and tune. We’ve got no idea what kind of song they’ll sing or what tone they’ll set - they were even introduced as ‘newcomers’, so we’re about as clueless as The Barracks’ regular audience. Ymir strikes a chord, and Bertholdt follows.

Not even two seconds later and Annie’s mouth is at the microphone. Ymir follows steadily with a riff that makes my soul jealous.

_“I’m a puppet on a string,_  
_Tracy Island, time-traveling diamond,_  
_Could ‘a shaped heartaches,_  
_Come to find ya fall in some velvet morning—_

_“Years too late,_  
_She’s a silver lining lone ranger riding_  
_Through an open space,_  
_In my mind when she's not right there beside me—”_

Bertholdt starts crashing along as they reach into the first chorus, and I sense Reiner’s intrigue and excitement as he watches his boyfriend’s debut. Historia plays along carefully, nodding her head as she follows Ymir’s lead, and Annie’s voice is low and questioning and yearning as always, keeping the crowd hooked on every line. They look effortless, cool and calm as they belt out the Arctic Monkeys tribute - a far cry from our emotionally-charged, bouncing performance of Rick Springfield.

_“I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be,_  
_And satisfaction feels like a distant memory—_  
_And I can't help myself,_  
_All I wanna hear her say is are you mine?_

_Are you mine?_  
_Are you mine?_  
_Are you mine?”_

I watch Mikasa purse her lips tightly as she takes note of Bertholdt’s drumming. She could match it, obviously - surpass it, even - but right now, it’s a threat. _Jessie’s Girl_ didn’t quite give her the opportunity to shine like this. She turns to me and our gazes lock.

_Next time,_ I promise her with my eyes.

_“I guess what I’m trying to say is I need the deep end,_  
_Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes_  
_Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days_  
_Great escape lost track of time and space,_  
_She’s a silver lining climbing on my desire—_

_And I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be_  
_And satisfaction feels like a distant memory_  
_And I can’t help myself_  
_All I wanna hear her say is are you mine?_

_Are you mine?_  
_Are you mine?_  
_Are you mine?”_

Ymir and Historia look perfectly in sync, in a way you could only be with your best friend or partner, their love manifested in complete musical harmony. I watch the way Armin observes them, noting the way his blue eyes glitter purposefully. He’s wondering if we can ever be that controlled, that managed and checked. Our little family is a lot more messy, but Armin lives for direction, intelligence, dedication. He wants to live up to standards of perfection, and I don’t blame him one little bit.

_“And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways,_  
_So in case I’m mistaken, I just wanna hear you say you got me baby,_  
_Are you mine?”_

The combination of Annie’s voice and Ymir’s solo makes my gut twist a little. They’re good, really good, in a way I never quite expected. Suddenly, the fight for musical domination of Trost got a whole lot harder, all because of a girl who cut me and my friends off for nothing.

I swallow hard as the performance finishes, and the audience gives a substantial cheer. I watch Annie grin, exchanging high-fives with her bandmates before they leave the stage.

———

As it turns out, we win the competition.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t think it would have mattered one little bit to Jean if we’d come sixth. He got his Marco, and the adjudicators ask them both back up on stage to collect the prize before we play our encore. They kiss again.

They kiss some more in the green room, too, where Wings of Liberty congratulate us on our victory. They don’t even stop when Crimson Arrow turn up.

“Oi, this is a green room, not a gay bar,” dismisses Ymir, and Jean only pulls away from Marco to stick his tongue out at her. She rolls her eyes, smacking him over the head. “Only gays allowed in here are me and Ria.”

Historia giggles behind her, and they hurry over to their bags.

Crimson Arrow came second by a minuscule margin, enough to make my stomach flip again when the results were announced. They were two and a half points off. We’ve never come that close to another band.

“Eren Jaeger,” comes a voice behind me. I’m adjusting Lucy’s straps ready to pack her away, and I lose focus entirely when I realise who’s addressing me.

“Annie?” I murmur, turning around to face her. She avoids my gaze, eyes moving away, jaw working as she chews up the piece of gum in her mouth. Somewhere behind her, Historia blows a pink bubble and Ymir pops it with her teeth.

“Congratulations,” she says, and it sounds at least thirty percent sincere.

I pull the strap a little. “Uh… thanks. You too.”

Annie nods. She folds her arms across her chest. “It was pretty stupid of you, though.”

_Oh, geez._ “What?”

“Hiding behind your lovesick bassist like that. Of course they were gonna let you win, that kind of shit pulls through every time.”

I can sense my blood heating up a little. I feel the need to defend Jean, who’s uselessly making out with Marco in the corner. Still.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I tell her. “We wanted it to be special. Don’t be such a downer.”

Annie huffs.

“Whatever,” she replies. “Your lovey-dovey schtick might have worked this time around, but don’t think your fans have forgotten how badly you messed up at Rock of Ages. We were there, we saw the whole thing.”

She pokes a finger offensively into my chest.

“You can bet this isn’t over, Jaeger.”

My cheeks flare. I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by Mikasa clearing her throat very loudly behind me.

“Your drummer’s good,” she tells Annie. The way she says it sounds like she’s spitting poison.

I move aside very slowly, and they each step forward.

“Thanks,” replies Annie, with a cock of her head. “He taught himself.”

“So did I. He should show me a trick or two sometime.”

“Maybe he should.”

The tension mounts almost unbearably. I hear a tiny squeak of shock from Armin on my left. The two girls step closer again, gazes locked, fists curled—

And with a feat of remarkable timing, Connie and Sasha bound inside, oblivious to the thunderous atmosphere.

“Who’s coming to the bar?” grins Sasha, pulling her lollipop from her lips and waving it in the air.

The entire room breathes out at once.

———

There’s very little conflict at the bar.

Wings of Liberty get their chance to play, with a giddy Jean going above and beyond the call of duty to help Hannes rig them up on the smaller stage. They play the main song they had chosen, a cover of Blink 182’s _First Date,_ and we cheer them on and buy them enough drinks to make up tenfold for their missed competition. Crimson Arrow mind their own business together by the jukebox, although their drummer makes his excuses to slip away towards Wings of Liberty after their set. We quickly discover that Reiner and Bertholdt are just as bad as Jean and Marco after a couple of beers.

Armin and Mikasa make sure I drink plenty of water - and by that, I mean they don’t let me get drunk and instead fill my bladder to the point where I’m having to excuse myself every five minutes. It’s a little after quarter past ten when I have to go to the bathroom again, for approximately the fiftieth time that night.

I notice a sign outside the men’s bathroom for cleaning, but I dip around it and hop into a stall anyway.

“Hey,” comes a voice from outside. “Can’t even read a sign, can you? I’m cleaning.”

The voice is familiar. It takes me about three seconds before I open the door again.

Levi’s standing there, one hand on his hip, the other tightened around a mop in a bucket. He’s wearing gloves and an apron, and I have to bite back laughter.

“Hey there.”

Levi claps eyes with me. His mouth turns up in a smirk, and his gloved arms cross against his chest.

“Eren Jaeger.”

“Levi Ackerman. With an R.”

“Of course there’s an R in ‘Ackerman’, brat.”

We grin at each other for a moment, until I’m reminded of my pressing bodily needs.

“Can I, uh… pee?” I ask, swaying a little on the spot.

“And why should I let you do that, after you clearly disregarded the sign outside?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Tch.”

For a second I think he’s going to deny it, but his arms fall from his front and he shoos me back into the stall.

“Go on, then. I’ll award my friend the luxury of a piss in my spotless bathroom. Spill a single drop and I’ll murder you.”

I make sure my aim’s impeccable, and Levi darts right into the stall to check while I wash my hands.

“So… you work here,” I say.

“Yep,” says Levi, squirting disinfectant into the sink next to me and scrubbing around it with a cloth. “Nice coincidence, isn’t it? Neat freak’s a janitor in a dirty old bar.”

He bites off the sentence with some resentment, furiously wiping the sink.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I admit. “Jean and Marco are driving me nuts. Haven’t stopped making out since we got off stage.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “Gross.”

I hesitate over the hand dryer. I shake my hands, knowing that usually this would be my cue to exit, but I’m watching Levi carefully as he huffs at a puddle on the floor.

“I’m guessing you didn’t see us play, then?”

“I might have ducked out to watch you.”

My heart soars. I burst into a grin, hardly able to contain my delight. He saw me. He _saw_ me. “No way!”

“Yeah way. You did well.”

Levi looks up and offers me a small smile. My face flushes with pride. My heart’s still fluttering, and I can’t bring myself to leave.

“Hey…”

I twirl my damp fingers around, tapping a foot on the grimy floor tiles.

“What time do you finish?”

Levi lifts a brow. “Finish work? My shift’s over at 10:30.”

I dig into my pocket for my phone and check the time. “It’s twenty past.”

“Ten _thirty,_ Eren.”

“Nobody cares what the janitor’s doing, Levi. C’mon.”

Levi drops the mop back in the bucket with a slosh.

“And what if a member of staff sees us?”

I cross my arms, grinning. “We tell them you’re my plus one. Plus one of the lead singer of the _winning_ band.”

A long silence. Levi sighs again, looks down at his gloves before tugging them off. I’m beaming.

“Just let me put this shit away.”

———

We meet up again in the courtyard, and I lead Levi around the block to where the dumpsters are kept.

“Wow,” Levi quips. “Really treating me, aren’t you?”  
  
“Shut your mouth,” I laugh, and point a route up the wall. “This is how we get on the roof.”

Levi stares at me blankly, and I feel his gaze on me as I hop up onto the metal fire escape and scramble over the tiles. I sit with my legs swinging over the edge, grinning down at him.

“Come on.”

Levi opens his mouth and shuts it again, and I wait for him to make some kind of excuse - but instead he nods, once, and clambers swiftly up after me. He perches down on the roof like a cat, squinting as we watch the flickering lights below.

“I come up here a lot,” I tell him, crossing my legs and flattening my palms out behind me. “It’s kind of my place, you know? Armin’s too scared to come up here. Jean’s normally too drunk. Mikasa just tells me to get down.”

Levi chuckles, low and soft in his throat.

“I like it because I can see across the city without having to… be _in_ it, you know? Like… both within and without.”

“Both enchanted and repelled,” Levi finishes. “The Great Gatsby.”

I grin. “I loved that book when we did it in high school. Don’t tell the others.”

“I wouldn’t dare reveal such a scandalous secret.”

I snort, and nudge him so he rocks a little in place.

We stay like that for a long while. It’s a clear night, so we’re lucky enough to see a trickling expanse of stars as our eyes adjust to the darkness. I’m freezing my ass off despite my coat, and Levi looks the same - but it’s nice. I don’t want to leave.

“Eren…” Levi begins, and I can hear the hesitance in his voice. I look over at him, and he’s pressing his palms together slowly.

“Yeah? Are you okay?”

He nods, letting his eyes shut slowly and then open again in a long, careful blink.

“The reason I was so horrible to you the first time we met was because it was the anniversary of my friends’ deaths. January 8th.”

He says it so fast that I hardly have time to process it. It’s almost like he doesn’t want me to hear him, hands in front of his mouth to muffle himself. He breathes in slowly and purses his lips.

“Isabel and Farlan,” he clarifies.

I feel myself wince, and I only hope it doesn’t show outwardly. The friends he spoke so fondly of when he came to watch our practice.

That’s why he made an excuse to leave when Jean mentioned meeting them.

I briefly try imagining my world without Armin and Mikasa, or Jean, or Connie and Sasha or Marco. It hurts so much I feel my eyes sting.

“Why… why didn’t you say something sooner?” I murmur, but I have a feeling I know why.

Levi breathes out a sigh. “I like being with you, Eren. You make me happier than I’ve been in a long time. I wasn’t about to ruin that with a “Hey, by the way, all my friends are dead.” You know?”

“I know.”

My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “Levi? If… if you don’t mind, uh, how…”

Levi nods before I’ve finished my sentence. “Car accident. It was icy out and a drunk driver smashed into us head-on. The other two died instantly.”

“Fuck,” I breathe. “Were you hurt?”

“Yep, big time,” murmurs Levi. “My leg was broken in about three places. Bleeding all over. I spent six months in hospital, on and off. But I was completely numb with shock at the time. Issy, I saw her… she was…”

Levi trails off and shivers, and I see it wrack his body head to toe. My arm slides around his shoulders. The hollowness in his eyes is familiar - it’s the same blank, terrified look he wore when Jean slammed his breaks on too hard.

_So that’s why._

“Levi… we don’t have to talk about this anymore. Thanks for telling me, okay?”

Levi hesitates, and then slowly leans against me. My heart starts hammering a little, because I feel as though I’ve got to say something, anything to comfort him.

“I went through the same thing,” I say. “My dad… I found him, when he overdosed. Passed out on the living room floor. He was obviously slipping away by the time Mikasa and I got home, and we couldn’t… there was nothing… nothing left.”

My throat feels tight. My eyes start watering, and Levi tugs me in closer. I feel like glass against him, breakable, humming with pain.

“Eren, I’m so sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, because it is - it’s not good, or fair, or nice, but it’s okay. “I’ve got Mikasa, I’ve got my friends. We have relatives back in Germany who send money and stuff at Christmas, yanno. I’m loved.”

“You are,” he says firmly. I let my eyes rest on the horizon, and we spend a few silent moments like that, the lights of Trost flickering below us.

“You know,” Levi says finally, _“Hey Jude_ was Issy’s favourite. She used to sing it all the damn time, totally out of tune. _Nah, nah, nah NAH NAHNAH NAH,_ like that.”

I laugh, and Levi chuckles with me.

“That’s why I didn’t like the way that band played it, Eren. They were shit. Only my Issy’s allowed to butcher _Hey Jude.”_

He looks up at me and grins, and it makes an awful lot of sense. A song so close to his heart, played by a half-assed band who only chose it because the audience could pick up the slack and sing along.

“You’ll tell me more about them soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Levi nods. “And you can tell me more about your parents.”

“Deal.”

We exchange another smile, and shake hands on it. I’m about to change the subject to something lighter when I hear a voice from below the roof.

“Eren?”

It’s Mikasa. I retract away from Levi and shuffle to the edge. “Hey. I’m up here.”

“Get down. Jean’s gone.”

_Oh, boy._

We climb down the fire escape and land with a thud on the ground. Mikasa’s arms are folded across her chest, and she rolls her eyes at Levi as he bids his goodbye and heads back inside the building.

“Jean’s gone,” I repeat at her, bewildered.

“Jean is gone,” she confirms. “You know how he was supposed to give us the taxi money back? Well, he’s gone. He went home with Marco.”

I snort into my hand, which earns me a slap on the shoulder.

“Shut up, this was mostly your fault.”

I grin at her, and she folds her arms tighter.

“Hey, don’t panic. This is a good excuse to give you your present.”

It was Mikasa’s birthday three days before the competition, and while we did get her a kitten bento box from her favourite Japanese place in town for lunch, we’d been all too wrapped up in our pre-show mode to properly celebrate with her. She told me that playing tonight was enough, but I never believe her when she says stuff like that.

“My… what?”

“Your birthday present.”

“Eren…”

“I mean it!”

I reach into my pocket, digging around for the little box I’d shoved in there after the show. I’d planned to give this to her somewhere nicer than the lamp-lit spot under the dumpsters, but hey. Rockers can’t be choosers.

Mikasa watches as I fish the box out and hold it to her. She cocks a brow, but takes it in both hands. She turns it over, lifting it to her ear and rattling it, before gently ripping off the paper.

It’s a little blue jewellery box.

“Not proposing, are ya? We’re both too gay and too related for that.”

I snort again, and this time she grins. She feels the box for a few moments more - probably just to prolong the apprehension in my chest - before finally, _finally,_ she opens it.

“Happy birthday, Mika.”

The gift is a necklace I somehow managed to find in an antique store in town - Armin helped me clean it up. It’s got a long, glittering chain and a key pendant, one of those old-fashioned keys that goes in big-ass doors - and that’s significant because it’s the emblem The 104th chose as our band logo. It’s on every poster, every concert ticket, on all of our instruments in one way or another. And now my sister can wear it too.

“Oh, Eren…”

She gazes into the box for a few moments before throwing her arms around my neck, hugging me so tight I feel my airflow constrict a little.

“It’s perfect. You’re amazing, Eren. Honestly.”

“H-heh… breathing…”

She lets go with a soft ‘oops’, plucking the necklace from its box and putting it on. She pulls her hair out of the chain and lets it flow around her shoulders, and I feel my heart lift with pride.

“Mika… it looks so great on you.”

Mikasa beams, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check her reflection.

“Don’t worry about the taxi money, Eren. I’ll handle it. I love you, little bro.”

I roll my eyes, shoving her playfully.

“Little my ass. Love you too.”

———  
Information to Disclose;  
Jessie’s Girl is a song written and performed by Australian singer Rick Springfield. It was released on the album Working Class Dog. The song is about unrequited love and centers on a young man in love with his best friend's girlfriend. The song was at No. 1 when MTV launched on 1 August 1981, and Billboard ranked it as the No. 5 song for all of 1981.  
———


	7. Sadness Drowned in Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shocking revelation leaves Eren and his band lost for words, conveniently just in time for a party hosted by the sprightly Connie Springer. Disaster abounds, but can the impending collisions somehow be avoided?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this week! Featuring: Eren having a meltdown, Eren playing his guitar alone and Eren drinking away his problems. Ahhh, youth. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is important for me as I’ve decided to introduce one of the cast as transgender! This headcanon is something I’ve had since I first watched SnK, and it very much stuck - I sincerely hope you appreciate that little amendment. It shouldn’t have any real bearing on the events of the fic as a whole, but it’s just a nice piece of trivia to show the diversity of people in Eren’s world.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr).

I’m woken up on Sunday morning by Armin, who shuffles through my bedroom door just as I’m opening my eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, a grin on his features. He slips an envelope down on my bedside table and perches on the mattress while I sit up, scrubbing my eyes. “Thought I might give you that.”

When I was younger, my mother used to give me a Valentine’s Day card every February 14th. After she passed, Mikasa and Armin took up that job in her place, and each year we exchange cards between the three of us. I see my name in Armin’s neat handwriting on the envelope.

“Thanks,” I yawn, stretching my hands above my head. “Don’t we normally leave that for breakfast, though?”

“Yeah,” Armin murmurs. He stares into his lap, and I see a slight colouring of his cheeks. “About that. I wanted to talk to you.”

I blink at him. He’s avoiding my gaze, and I know he’s figured out something within himself that he isn’t so eager to share with me.

“Armin… what is it?”

He swallows hard.

“Annie did it.”

My stomach swoops. I know exactly what he’s referring to, but I still open my mouth to seek confirmation. “Did what?”

“She cut the ODMG.”

A static, prickling silence settles between us. Armin lifts his eyes to meet mine.

“How… how’d you figure?”

“S-she told me. While you were up with Levi.”

I nod. My tongue feels dry and heavy in my mouth, a block of concrete.

I should have seen this coming. Annie, Annie, of _course_ it was Annie, the girl who’s held a personal vendetta against me since we were sixteen. She didn’t get into Rock of Ages, so she made sure we didn’t win - she slit my gear and landed my face on the hardwood floor and watched from the crowd as everyone laughed up the idiot who tripped while playing The Kinks. A perfect recipe for revenge, and just in time so she could slide in with her own band and take a sizeable swipe at stealing our reputation in Trost.

“God _damn_ it!”

I lift my bedsheets over my head and launch them across the room, making Armin jump.

“Eren—”

“After everything! Why the fuck is she _doing_ this to us? We went through so much shit, Armin! Mikasa and I, we… we went through so much _bullshit_ just so she could wind up here and try and take my music away from me!”

Armin lifts a hand to stop me, but it’s no use. I’m seeing red. My fist collides with the wall - once, twice, three times until I feel the familiar sting of ripped skin on my knuckles. The anger roots itself deep in my heart, dulling from a roar to a hateful, burning whisper. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

“Eren,” says Armin again, softer this time. I roll forward and he catches me.

“We’ll confront her, I promise. We’ll make it right. There has to be some other reason for this. The Annie I remember wouldn’t be so vindictive.”

“The Annie you remember is long gone,” I bite off bitterly, and bury my face in Armin’s sweater. He holds on tight, and I feel his body tremble a little in uncertainty. I hate myself even more for frightening him.

“Eren, your hands—” Armin murmurs, and draws back to check over them. He clicks his tongue when he sees the little beads of blood rising up from my skin. “Let me get you a tissue.”

He lets me go, and I drop uselessly back down on the mattress. My eyes start to spill over.

“Eren?”

Mikasa’s standing in the doorway in her pyjamas, rubbing her face.

I sit up and look at her, and she turns blurry as my vision is clouded with tears again.

“Oh, Eren. I knew I heard shouting.”

I feel a surge of childish sadness wash over me, and I lift my hands out to her. She meets me halfway and hugs me up tight, and I let myself cry. Mikasa’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve had since I was ten. I need her and Armin more than anybody else.

Her hands card through my hair and she shushes me just as Armin arrives back with the tissue, kneeling down to dab at my hands. The marks aren’t too bad, but the sharp, neat pain makes my eyes water even more. We hug for a long, quiet moment, and over time my breathing slows back to normal and the crying subsides.

It’s only when I’m calm that I realise something.

“Where’s Jean?”

“Still getting railed by Marco, probably.”

Mikasa and I both pull back from the hug to stare wide-eyed at Armin’s precise choice of language. He shrugs, and at once we burst out laughing.

———

Breakfast is significantly more subdued. We cook eggs, and Armin delicately cuts them into little heart shapes while we exchange cards. Jean’s home a quarter of an hour later, and it’s hard not to laugh at his tousled hair and exhausted expression.

“You had a good night, then?” I ask, smirking.

“Shut up, Jaeger,” protests Jean. “I left as soon as I got Mikasa’s text.”

Mikasa snorts behind me. “You mean half an hour afterwards, right?”

Jean waves a hand dismissively before sitting down next to me, threading a hand through my hair.

“You okay, man?” he asks softly, and I nod.

“Yeah, just… I guess Armin told you about Annie.”

Jean winces. “Sure did. Geez, Eren, if I’d known I’d have—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t worry, it’s okay. It’s just… why did she confess to it? Now she knows we’ll confront her.”

“Maybe she’s looking for a fight.”

I can almost hear Mikasa grit her teeth.

“Oh, I’ll give her a fight,” she says. I believe it.

I look over at Armin, who’s hovering his fork delicately over his heart-shaped egg. It seems he doesn’t want to cut it for fear of ruining the shape he made.

“Armin,” I say, while he pulls out his phone to take a picture of his breakfast art, “How did she say it, when she told you?”

Armin freezes. He looks up at me, wide-eyed. “What… what do you mean?”

“Like… did she sound guilty, or pleased with herself, or like she was trying to intimidate you?”

Armin pauses for a moment, gaze flicking upward in thought. “N-no,” he says finally, shaking his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

I see his shoulders lift in a little shrug. “I… don’t know. She just… said it, like it was nothing. Monotone, I guess.”

I feel the anger rising up in my chest again, and I have to resist the urge to slam my fist down hard on the table. A part of me wishes she was here so I could scream at her for some kind of answer.

“Creepy,” says Jean. “Like a robot.”

“Like a clown,” scoffs Mikasa. “Freak show act, this whole thing. If she’s got such a huge problem with us then what’s stopping her from saying it to our faces? Why’d she have to go through Armin?”

“Because Armin’s the only one who’d listen to her,” I reply. “Let’s be honest here.”

“Not true!” Mikasa protests. “I’d listen to her!… After kicking her ass to Mars.”

“Gee,  _thanks,_ Mikasa.”

She smiles sweetly at me, leaning across the table to kiss my forehead. “Anytime.”

———

**Connie**   
_Yo man, wondering if u guys can make my party this Sat? It’s my 1st anniversary of being on T :D_

The text comes in around two, when we’re wiling away the mid-afternoon in front of the TV. Right now we’re watching Jean play _Dark Souls,_ and he sucks at it.

“Guys, are we going to Connie’s this weekend?” I ask. “It’s his transition anniversary.”

Silence. Then a loud exclamation of “Shit!” from Jean as he dies again.

“I don’t mind going,” Armin murmurs politely through his sweater-paws.

“Ask him if Crimson Arrow are gonna be there,” says Mikasa.

I glance down at my phone.

**Me**   
_Probably yeah. Who’s going?_

**Connie**   
_My squad, Bert’s squad, ur squad maybe, some buddies from highschool. :D_

“He said ‘Bert’s squad’, does that include Annie?”

Mikasa takes in a deep breath. “Probably.”

I pass my phone over to her. She taps and hits send before I can stop her.

“Wait, Mika! Did you say no?”

She hands the phone back with a roll of her eyes.

**Me**   
_Sure then. See you there._

———

It’s almost half past five when I peel myself off the couch and take a walk around the apartment. It’s still way too cold to go outside, and I feel restless.

I take Lucy upstairs, work again on that song I keep getting distracted from. The chord sequence doesn’t sound as good as it did last time I played it, and I can’t help feeling like it’d be better on acoustic. I curse myself for leaving the other guitar at Jean’s.

I only have a few lyrics so far. Most of the time when I write I’m able to come up with some kind of theme, but this time I’m drawing blanks. Something about night or whatever - about how it feels when it gets dark at 5pm and there aren’t any stars out. How it felt after Dad died and Mikasa and I were left to fend for ourselves.

I lean back on my bed with a sigh. My mind drifts back to yesterday on the roof with Levi, and it feels weird to know that what Professor Smith said about us was right. He seemed genuinely relieved to tell me about Isabel and Farlan. From what I could tell, he’s not the kind of guy to open up easily unless he really needs to. Maybe that was it: he just really _needed_ to.

Pretty much all my friends know about my parents, along with the staff at the college, Petra, my doctor and every other medical professional who’s had the misfortune of having to deal with me for the last nine years. I don’t talk about them as such, but still, everyone seems to just _know,_ and I’m never sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

Half of me enjoys the comfort and sympathy, as selfish as that sounds. The other half always feels strange and detached when they come up in conversation, like I’m not actually in the room but instead watching it from a window or listening to it on the radio. My heart gets all glued up, because I know how quickly I can go from ‘okay’ to ‘not so okay’ to ‘meltdown’ - so for the most part I don’t really pay attention. To a lot of people I’m just damaged little orphan Eren, oh what a shame.

But with Levi…

I’m his friend. He climbed up on the roof behind me without question and we talked, open and honest, about the thorns in our memories. He shared his deepest pain, the one thing he tucks away tightest in his heart, and he saw in me - in me, messy, confused, eighteen-year-old Eren - a friend good and patient enough to show the darkest corners of himself. It makes my own heart clench in my chest.

I remember the way he laughed at my little stupid jokes, the care he took to smile and nod each time I mentioned something precious to me. It’s like he’s invested in me, and the thought of that feels so surreal and wonderful and unexpectedly thrilling. I realise I want to be invested in him, too.

I remember how bright the stars looked from up on that roof, even if it was above the dumpsters.

I think I know what my theme is now.

———

“Let’s play Spin the Bottle.”

“Are you kidding?” asks Ymir incredulously in response to Connie’s suggestion, folding her arms across her chest. “That game is for middle schoolers. Besides, I’m not here to catch whatever _those_ two have got.”

She points an accusatory finger at Jean and Marco, tangled in each other’s arms on the sofa. Jean glares across at her.

“Can’t wait for the hypocrisy to unfold when Historia gets back from the bathroom,” quips Jean, and Ymir rolls her eyes.

“Alright,” says Connie, looking between us, “Clearly we’re in need of a far superior party game. Any suggestions?”

“Never Have I Ever?” someone asks, and there’s another scoff from Ymir.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” comes another suggestion, and there’s a collective pained yelp from all the couples in the room.

“I dunno, man,” says Reiner, “Why’d we always have to do risque party games? Can’t we just go back to the Pass the Parcel days? Those were simpler times.”

“Bet Bertholdt would like to pass _your_ parcel,” snorts Jean, and there’s an appreciative snicker around the room. Bertholdt looks like someone just set his face on fire.

“Okay, okay,” huffs Connie, crossing his arms. “We’ll play _one_ game of Truth or Dare, but then we’re definitely getting the piñata out.”

We assemble ourselves in a rough circle, and Connie starts off by daring Sasha to hold a bowl of popcorn in her lap for the rest of the game and not eat a single piece. She scowls and mutters something about Connie’s cruelty.

Jean’s next, and he picks truth. Sasha grins.

“Have you ever had a threesome?” she asks cheerfully.

Jean folds his arms and sighs. “I _wish,”_ he murmurs, and Marco beside him squeaks.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Reiner says from across the room, and we all crack up immediately. Bertholdt looks even more mortified than Marco.

Marco chooses dare through gritted teeth, and Jean dares him to swap jackets with Mikasa. Mika ends up looking quite comfy in the oversized sweater, whereas Marco complains of chafing as the tight leather only comes up to his midriff.

A few of Connie’s high school friends are next, and by the time Ymir’s downed a shot of sriracha and Historia’s disclosed who she lost her virginity to (no prizes for guessing), it’s my turn to choose.

“Uh… truth?”

I glance at Armin, silently praying he’ll be merciful.

“Would you go on a date with Levi?”

So much for that idea.

Jean whistles, and a few others tilt their heads in confusion about who Levi is - fine by me, since the less they know about this guy right now the better. My face flares. “Uh… yeah? I dunno?”

I think about it. Levi would probably be a real gentleman to anyone he took out, paying for their dinner and walking them home afterwards. Whoever gets that privilege is someone lucky. Someone other than me, for sure.

“Definitely, then?”

“Armin!”

I breathe in deeply.

“Yeah, okay, objectively speaking I would definitely go on a _date_ with Levi. Are you happy now, coconut-head?”

“Very,” Armin giggles.

Mikasa picks dare, and I tell her to pick a random number on her phone and ask whoever answers for sex advice. Her friend Mina plays along pretty well until I can’t contain my laughter anymore, and Mikasa whines that she’s been blocked afterwards.

Annie’s next. She picks truth.

Mikasa looks at Armin, and they exchange an unreadable glance. Armin bites his lip and shakes his head just slightly—

“Hurry up. There’s still a bunch of people.”

Mikasa folds her arms.

“Okay. Did you break Jean’s stage gear?”

I feel all the blood in my body sink down to my toes. There’s silence, and then a distinct murmur starts up around the room.

“Wait… what?”

“Mikasa, what the hell?”

“Annie, is that true? Did you do that?”

Annie looks distinctly uncomfortable. She stands, but Mikasa takes hold of her arm.

“I’m not doing this here,” Annie says, snatching her arm back. “And you’re a bitch for asking that in front of everyone.”

Connie stands up now too, mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks back and forth between the two girls. Annie makes to walk out, but Mikasa follows her. They move into the yard, the rest of us piling by the door to listen and hoping they don’t notice.

“Did you?” demands Mikasa. “I’m just asking, Annie. Why are you so shy?”

“You asked in front of everyone!” Annie argues. Mikasa doesn’t flinch at the unusual volume of Annie’s voice, landing a hand on her hip.

“Then let’s have it out, here in the yard,” Mikasa says. She straightens up and clenches her fists, and Annie lifts her own hands up to her face in a defensive stance.

“No, no no no!”

I hardly see Reiner crash onto the lawn, but suddenly he’s there between them, holding Annie back. He turns to Mikasa.

“We helped her,” he says. “Me and Bertholdt. We helped.”

There’s a gasp from everyone at the door, revealing our position immediately - but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I feel white-hot fury rising in my blood, and I grab Bertholdt swiftly, pulling him up by the collar.

“You _traitors!”_ I yell, and I feel Armin pull at my waist to tug me away. Bertholdt staggers back, looking hopelessly between me and Reiner.

“I’m just saying it’s not all her fault,” Reiner continues firmly. “So if you want it out with her, we’re involved too. Got it?”

Mikasa and Reiner stare each other down for a few long, painful moments. I watch them with gritted teeth, and finally Mikasa strides back inside.

“You’re not worth it.”

———

The mood after the fight is dampened.

I’m hell-bent on getting wasted to try and forget it. Mikasa insists we go home, but Armin and Jean talk her down and fetch her a drink to cool off her nerves. I locate the strawberry and blackcurrant cider Marco brought with him and knock back a couple of bottles in the space of half an hour.

“Are you okay, Jaegerbomb?” asks Jean, slapping my shoulder as I empty out my bottle, the glass clinking and jarring against my teeth.

I nod enthusiastically, because if I’m not _okay_ then I have no idea what I am. “Yeah, dude. It’s working out. This stuff’s _good.”_

Jean seems to purse his lips for a few seconds, but says nothing.

“Piñata time!” calls Connie, and we head back into the yard.

The piñata fiasco is enough to lighten the moods of most. We take it in turns to slap the multicoloured donkey with Connie’s baseball bat, and the fact that half of us are drunk already makes our coordination suffer enough to have the rest of the group in fits of laughter. I miss entirely when it’s my go, swinging forward confidently only to land face-down on the grass.

Mikasa is the one who hits the candy out, and Armin and I both agree afterwards that it’s probably for the best she had that stress relief. Jean and Marco are finding… _other_ ways to relieve stress, only interrupted when Sasha catches them in the coat closet.

By the time midnight comes, the alcohol has definitely gone to my head. I’m lazing on the sofa next to Armin, who seems to be taking very close-up pictures of my face for future blackmail. There’s a warmth in my chest that bubbles each time I laugh, and I don’t think I remember exactly what happened earlier.

“Did Mikasa nearly… nearly _hit_ someone?” I ask, bewildered. I squint at the wallpaper, the geometric patterns playing tricks on my eyes.

“Who knows, buddy,” comes Armin’s answer, his eyes still locked on his phone. He leans back to take a selfie, making a peace sign with his fingers, and at the last minute I roll past the camera onto his lap.

“Innnnnnterception.”

“Eren, you’re too drunk for selfies.”

“Am not. I’ll prove it.”

I tug my phone out of my pocket and stare at it, forgetting what I retrieved it for entirely. Man. It really sucks having a short attention span in everyday life, let alone when you’re drunk.

I flip up the control panel and switch on the flashlight, waving it over the wall. “Lasers lasers lasers!”

“Eren.”

“Ohmygod, Armin, let’s do a Mission Impossible thing. You get up there and try to dodge my laser.”

“Eren, that’s just a regular flashlight. And we were gonna take a selfie.”

I gasp. “We _were?”_

———

By the time Armin and Mikasa bundle me in the car, I’m already half asleep. My brain feels fuzzy, like cotton wool stretched thin, and my eyes roam lazily over the dotted patterns of streetlights across the road. I bunch up my coat against the window and rest my head against it, humming.

I only realise my humming has turned to something more coherent when Armin interrupts me.

“Eren, were you just… singing in German?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and yawn widely. “Dunno.”

———  
Information To Disclose;  
Gibson is an American manufacturer of guitars, other musical instruments, and consumer and professional electronics now based in Nashville, Tennessee. It was founded by Orville Gibson in 1902, and the iconic Les Paul guitar has been played by many rock and roll legends, including Guns ‘n’ Roses guitarist Slash, Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton.  
———


	8. Peppermint Tea and Psychology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren is hungover. Perhaps having one drink too many at Connie’s party was a poor decision - but luckily for him, Levi’s armed with an arsenal of home remedies and some soothing homemade treats. 
> 
> Once again, Eren’s prayers are answered by the cool and sarcastic Levi - it seems that his unwavering kindness and loyalty is impossible to ignore. Could Levi hold the key to The 104th’s next battle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter WHATNOW? EIGHT? I can't believe this! It seems like just yesterday this fic was a tiny plot bunny blossoming in my head, ahhhh... (pulls out embarrassing baby photos of initial drafts)
> 
> This chapter includes copious amounts of shameless Ereri bonding, including the first tell-tale stirrings of a budding crush in Eren's heart. For that, I have absolutely no regrets. Take it. Love it. Hold it and cherish it, you know you want to.
> 
> I _loved_ writing this chapter. I really hope you love reading it!
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr)
> 
> [p.s. levi is a mommy's boy pass it on]

Sunday morning is an interesting affair. Again.

I’m woken rudely by the sound of my phone almost buzzing right off my bedside table, and my head is pounding as I pick it up and blindly press the answer button.

“Eren? Where are you?”

I hear Levi’s voice, and it dawns on me that we had arranged to meet up today to go over our presentation on ethical principles. _Had._

“Levi? Uhh…”

“You sound like shit.”

I’m not sure whether he’s amused or pissed off, but I decide to apologise just in case.

“Listen, Levi… I totally forgot to set an alarm last night, I’m sorry, I—”

“Were you out?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah. Connie Springer had a party.”

“And you’re hungover?”

I squint through another wave of sharp, throbbing pain in my head, and when I open my eyes the room spins. My stomach lurches. “Hoo, boy. Yeah.”

“Tch,” scoffs Levi, “Idiot. I’m coming over.”

I sit up so fast I almost roll right out of bed. “Wait, what?!”

“You heard me.”

“L… Levi, I’m barely awake! I haven’t showered!”

By this point I’ve put him on speakerphone and I’m scrambling around the room for some half-decent clothes.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there in ten.”

I run to stop him hanging up, but I hear the call termination noise and groan pathetically. I hobble to the bathroom and take a half-assed shower, the warm water doing the bare minimum to alleviate the thumping in my head and the burning in my stomach. When the doorbell rings, I hardly know which way is up.

Mikasa gets to the door first, and she and Levi both stare at me.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Eren,” murmurs Levi, “your pants are on back to front.”

———

Another two minutes later and we’re seated at the dining table, my pants suitably rearranged. Mikasa goes to make us a drink but Levi stops her - “I brought some of my own,” - and she excuses herself quietly to go and study.

“Peppermint,” says Levi, slipping the teabags into the pot and leaving them to steep. “It will be good for the headache and nausea.”

I sigh loudly, resting my chin in my hands. “Levi, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I wasn’t expecting to get that drunk when I went out. It’s just…”

Levi tilts his head a little, his gaze curious and sympathetic. “Yeah?”

“Well, Annie was there and shit, and I kind of thought… maybe if I just tried to chill out and enjoy myself, I wouldn’t blow up at her.”

“And?”

“Mikasa blew up at her instead.”

My elbows slide down so my forehead crashes against the pine table, and I mumble a soft ‘ow’.

Levi pours the tea into our cups and places a hand on the top of my head, scruffing my hair. I feel my cheeks grow warm.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Take a sip.”

I sit up and meet Levi’s gaze. He’s smiling sympathetically with just a hint of amusement, and he moves his hand to grip his teacup over the top. My stomach does a damn somersault, and for a moment I think it might be the nausea.

But then I notice the sunlight in his hair, and the possibility that maybe there’s some strands of brown in with the black if you look real close. And his face is so _neat,_ just like his school folder and his clothes and his house, but it’s real. He never fakes an expression, and he’ll never waste time trying to. This smile is just for me, and the thought of that is dizzying.

The peppermint smells so strong I think I might sneeze.

“Eren?”

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m…”

“You sure? You looked a bit like you were going to puke all over me.”

I shake my head and blow over the teacup, lifting it to my lips. I gulp it with the same enthusiasm I was downing strawberry cider with last night, which is a bad idea because it’s even stronger than it smells. I think it’s coming out of my nose.

“Ghak!”

Levi chuckles, rolling his eyes and setting his cup down. He takes mine from me while I splutter hopelessly.

“Geez, Eren. It’s not a race.”

I wave a hand in front of my face, the strength of the peppermint making my eyes stream. “S-shit, where’s the sugar meant to be in this?!”

Levi looks genuinely offended. “Sugar? This is tea, not Kendal mint cake.”

“Mint _cake?_ I swear you live on your own planet.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Levi snorts.

It takes a few tentative sips, but I eventually adjust to the taste of the peppermint tea. My stomach starts to rumble as soon as the mint chases the nausea away, and Levi offers to get breakfast.

“Are you sure?” I ask, but before I can protest more Levi’s holding up a plastic bag. “What’s that?”

“Homemade bread.”

“You… brought me homemade bread?”

“Sure I did. There’s only Hanji and I at my place, and four of you here. Consider it a gift.”

My mouth is gaping. “Levi— a _gift?_ — God, why are you so _nice?_ Stop it already.”

“Oh, but I’m not.”

Levi’s expression shifts - his gaze clouds over and his mouth drops down into a scowl. My heart stops for a second in fear that I’ve said something wrong, but then:

_“I hope you’re aware that volume doesn’t equate talent.”_

He watches my shell-shocked expression for a few long moments before he cracks, pressing a hand against his temple as he wheezes laughter.

“Dude!” I cry indignantly, failing to suppress the laughter that comes bubbling from my throat. “That was so real, what the fuck? I thought you were mad! Don’t _do_ that!”

Levi snorts, and I reach over to lightly slap his arm.

We move to the kitchen and toast homemade bread, and sure enough Levi provides homemade jam to go along with it.

“Good?” he asks, as I take an all-too-generous bite. I hum my appreciation. “I’m glad. My mother loves making things.”

I pause, chewing my mouthful and swallowing it. It’s the first time I’ve heard Levi talk about _family,_ and it catches me off-guard.

“Your mother?”

Levi nods. “Bread, jam, cookies, sweaters, you name it, she’s got all bases covered. I help her out here and there, but she does most of the work.”

The fondness in Levi’s voice makes me smile instinctively. I take another bite of toast and it tastes sweeter this time, homey and comforting like the passing of Levi’s fingers through my hair. I wonder what his mother looks like.

“Do you think maybe I could meet her sometime?”

Levi halts, knife hovering over his toast to cut it cleanly in half. “Sometime.”

He looks over at me and smiles, before taking a bite of his breakfast and sighing contentedly.

———

Levi and I get an A on our presentation. With the weight of that off my back, the rest of the week breezes by with little complaint. On Thursday, Connie Springer leans over a sleeping Sasha on the desk next to him in Employability Skills and whispers to me.

“Hey, man. You holding up okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, not bad. Thanks for having us last weekend, we had a blast.”

Connie flashes me a thumbs up, but I sense some reticence in his expression. He opens his mouth to say something more, but bites his lip instead.

I tilt my head. “What is it?”

“Oh, just… I wondered if you and Crimson Arrow ever dealt with the uh… the beef.”

Connie’s not exactly subtle. I saw that coming from a mile off, so I’m pretty relaxed about it, stretching my arms out in front of me as I answer.

“Nah. Not yet. Hopefully soon.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like for us all to get along, yanno. Reiner’s really sorry about it, hasn't stopped thinking about it all week, he says. Bertl too. They want you to clear the air with Annie, though, which is why we’re all kinda staying out of it—”

“It’s no big, dude,” I tell him. “We don’t want everyone getting stuck in our mess. You’re doing okay.”

He grins this time, and nods quickly. He turns back to his desk for a second, and then:

“Wait, yo. Eren.”

“Yeah?”

“New competition announcement tomorrow. You ready?”

“Hell yeah,” I say confidently. “We need a good match. All three bands.”

“Top three for the top three,” Connie concurs, and we bump fists. I feel the apprehension starting to bubble up from my stomach, and I swallow it back down.

———

_Flower Power,_ the poster reads. _A celebration of colour and diversity in the city of Trost._

“Flower… power? Geez,” mutters Jean. “Can these competitions get any more ridiculous?”

“I think it’s a nice theme,” smiles Armin sweetly. “Just in time for Eren’s birthday, too.”

I grin, and Jean whips the poster from my hands. “Yeah, whatever. What are we gonna do, cover Jaegerbomb in daisies and pronounce him the fairy king?”

“God, I hope so,” I laugh, and Jean pokes my ribs. “Colour and diversity is great, though, don’t you think? We could do something about LGBT+.”

It’s not exactly a secret that The 104th is made up of four decidedly non-straight instrumentalists. I’m gay - big surprise there, and Mikasa’s a lesbian - we both came out in high school, within about two weeks of each other. Jean is bisexual, as he discovered pretty recently, and while Armin is on the ace spectrum he’s pretty sure he’d be a real romantic for the right person. Finding representation in Trost isn’t so hard, and gay marriage is legal across the board, but you’ll occasionally get a misguided bigot here and there who’s got something to say about your style or orientation. Not too different from any other modern city, I suppose.

“Maybe we could wear shirts with pride flags on?” suggests Armin.

Mikasa hums, pressing her fingers against her chin in thought. “I don’t think shirts will show up as much as we want.”

“Hey, Mika.”

“Hmm?”

I move to sit next to her, and she uncrosses her legs to drape them over mine out of habit.

“You said you could give Annie a fight,” I say.

“Eren,” murmurs Armin almost immediately, blue eyes glazing over with concern. “Maybe we should leave Annie out of this.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mikasa reassures him. “I said I could give her a fight, so we’ll do it like this. We beat them once already. Shouldn’t be too hard to do it again.”

Jean sticks a straw into his Capri-Sun and slurps at it noisily. “What are you trying to achieve, anyway? Is this how we’re gonna get her to apologise?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I just… don’t see the point in dragging this on. If we snatch the top spot this time, there’s a chance she’ll confront us properly and get it over with.”

I spot Armin out of the corner of my eye, pulling his sweater around himself a little tighter. I’m hit with a pang of guilt for how uncomfortable he looks.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell him, and he looks up and chews his lip. “Armin, you trust us, right?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I trust you. I just wish things were different.”

I look between Armin and Mikasa. Mikasa’s mouth is pulled into a tight scowl, arms folded across her chest.

“Whatever happens, if Annie doesn’t confront me, I’ll confront her. Simple as.”

“Eren, are you sure?” Armin asks.

I nod decisively.

The initial shock and anger of realising Annie sabotaged us has faded. Now I’m just _curious,_ more than anything else. It’s been almost three years since our fall out, and there’s a rift in our group of friends that won’t be healed until I find out why Annie decided to do this to us. Aside from competition victories, we’ve got no reason to want payback - just justice. A little bit of money for the ODMG wouldn’t go amiss, certainly not in Jean’s eyes, but…

Really, I just want my friend back.

I’ve still got a photo on my corkboard of us together, taken with the vintage Polaroid Jean got for his 16th birthday. It was the first time we went to the Trost Festival as a gang - me, Mika, Armin and Jean with Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt, and it was one of the best weekends of my life. We watched bands up on the huge stage until the early hours, pulling pranks and daring each other into the mosh pit. We snuck pictures of Bertholdt’s ridiculous sleeping positions, and Annie and I had a singing competition - she won, obviously. It was a welcome distraction for the both of us.

Annie has the stupidest laugh, too. She’ll giggle politely if she finds something slightly amusing, but the second you hit her funny bone she explodes in raucous cackles. It’s the most infectious laugh you’ll ever hear - and it’s much easier to get the belly laugh out of her if she’s been drinking, too. Weirdly enough, Mikasa was always the one who could make her laugh the hardest.

For that laughter, among everything else, I have to talk to her. And if next month’s competition is my only chance, well… I’ll take it with both hands.

———

February moves into March, and finally the weather starts to warm a little. Trost’s a temperate city, so ‘warm’ usually means ‘rain’ - this year is no exception, and the first week of the new month brings torrential downpours to the whole district. It’s pouring it down as I curl into the corner of Levi’s couch, legs against my chest as I listen to the erratic drumming against the window pane.

Levi sits in the armchair across from me, one leg crossed over the other as he flips through his textbook. Every so often he moves to grip his teacup and take a long sip, and Ilse’s curled up at his feet.

I never thought the sight of a guy drinking tea while it rained outside would be so soothing.

We’ve figured out that Saturdays are a good time for me to visit Levi’s place for study sessions and the like. Band practice usually happens on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, but we tend to keep weekends free if we’re not competing or socialising. Levi complains of loneliness at the weekend, as it’s when his roommate Hanji often goes to stay with their boyfriend Moblit when they don’t have work of their own to do.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to get lonely,” I’d said, untying my shoes and labelling them. “You’re a solitary kind of guy, right?”

“Right,” he’d responded with a slight nod. “But there’s a difference between deciding to be alone and having no choice.”

We’d spent a small portion of the morning studying, but my attention had waned pretty quickly. We end up in the living room with English tea and a new breed of biscuit - a custard cream. I like the custard creams a lot, as it happens. Levi has to stop me after I reach for a sixth.

“God, are you trying to give yourself diabetes?” he drawls, smirking at me. “First sugar in your tea, now this.”

“Killjoy,” I mutter in response. I lean towards the plate again and he swats my hand away. “You provided the biscuits. You’re an _enabler.”_

“Pfft.”

I roll onto my stomach, stretching myself out across the sofa and lifting my legs up behind me. “I need your help with something.”

Levi snorts. “Look at you, treating my nice clean home like your own damn castle. Disgusting.”

_“Leeevi.”_

“Go on, then.”

He shuts his book in anticipation, and I grin at him.

“Prelims for the competition are next week. We’ve got our songs, but we need something more for the theme.”

“What did you say it was again?”

“‘Flower Power’, colour and diversity.”

Levi hums, pressing a finger against his lips.

We’ve gone for two drum-led classics this month to give Mikasa the fight she wants - naturally, both Phil Collins. We’re aiming to use _In The Air Tonight,_ but we’ve chosen _Easy Lover_ as our backup. We’re still scratching our heads over how we can incorporate enough ‘colour and diversity’ into the performance to take the lead. Jean suggested confetti, but the dust from blowing it around the stage or dropping it on us would be more than enough to set off Armin’s asthma. Glitter’s out of the question too.

“Fancy a trip into town?” says Levi, conveniently just as the patter of rain slows and the sun begins to peek through the half-closed blinds. I nod vigorously, and we rustle Ilse up and out of the door on her leash.

———

The walk from Levi’s house to town is just under a mile, and takes us about twenty minutes with Ilse pulling us stubbornly along. We head into Little Berlin, where the weekend flower markets are up displaying the first daffodils and tulips of the season. We pause to take a look.

“Levi,” I point out, while Ilse laps at a water bowl under the display table. “We can’t do flowers, Armin’s allergies—”

“Ah, I know,” says Levi, his eyes still roaming across the flowers. “These aren’t for you.”

I blink at him, but he’s paying hardly any attention. He looks up to the florist with a soft, polite smile.

“Do you have any hyacinths, Mike?”

The florist - Mike, if I heard right - nods and smiles. “They’ve come up beautifully this year, thanks to that cold winter. You’ll have to plant them as soon as possible.”

“Excellent,” replies Levi. “Can I have some in white and purple? Prepare them for me, we’ll be back.”

Mike nods once more, but before he can turn away to prepare the flowers, Levi adds, “Oh. And this is Eren, my friend from university.”

“Hello, Eren,” says Mike with a warm smile. “I have heard plenty about you. Let me just say that you smell just as sweet as you look.”

I can’t imagine what that means, so I stammer my thanks and look over at Levi in confusion.

“Oh, yeah, Mike’s nose is quite legendary,” Levi clarifies. “It’s a florist thing.”

“The joy of a flower is only half in the colour,” Mike confirms.

We tug Ilse along, and Levi leads me to one of the shops lining the marketplace - Nanaba’s, a privately-run art and craft store that I know Jean frequents when he’s in the mood to draw. We tie Ilse up on a bicycle rack outside and she whines.

“I hope you didn’t think I was being rude,” Levi says, as we push open the door. The bell on the hinge gives a quaint little ring. “The flowers are for my mother. I like to bring her pleasant-smelling flowers in springtime, it livens up her house a little.”

At first I’d thought that Levi was buying the flowers for himself, maybe for his hanging baskets. The fact that they’re for his mother makes the smell of the blossoms in the market all that sweeter.

“That’s so kind of you,” I murmur, our voices hushed in the soaked-up quiet of the little craft shop. “Your mom’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Levi replies instantly.

We scoot around the craft shop together, but I’m not quite sure what Levi’s looking for. His eyes scan the art supplies, settling on the long racks of mixed paint.

I watch him pluck a red bottle off one of the racks, inspect it, click his tongue and set it back down. He does this with a few other bottles, too, shaking his head and sighing in frustration - until finally he finds what he wants, a black bottle with a green cap. He presents it to me.

_Glow-in-the-dark,_ the label reads.

“Bright, colourful, works for the setting,” he says, “and best of all, it hardly shows up in broad daylight.”

I open the cap to squirt some on my hand, and Levi snatches it back with a pout so severe it sends me into a fit of giggles.

“So… where do we put it?” I ask.

Levi inspects the label again. “Well, it’s washable and non-toxic, so… anywhere, really.”

I look back up at him innocently.

“Not down your pants.”

“Aww.”

———

We leave town with about ten bottles of glow-in-the-dark paint, the flowers Levi chose, a new set of sketching pencils I bought in advance for Jean’s birthday, and some dog treats for Ilse. We walk back to Levi’s house through the park, stopping for a while to let Ilse off her leash and watch her run around the mud-soaked field.

“Cream carpets, you silly dog,” sighs Levi next to me, and I find myself giggling.

“You’re gonna have to make her some dog-sized shoes,” I tell him.

“Oh, I’ve considered it. Good thing we’ve got a hosepipe out front.”

The air smells fresh after the rain, the heavy scent of the grass soaking up the water beneath our feet. I look over at Levi and notice the slight half-smile on his face as he watches Ilse make a total mess of her coat, shaking his head and muttering to himself about her dirty paws. The affection in his eyes makes my heart jump and stomach swirl the way they did a couple of weeks ago over peppermint tea, and for a second I feel like I might be sinking in the mud.

He meets my gaze, and his smile inexplicably widens. My heart thumps hard.

By the time we get back to Levi’s house, it’s raining again. We pluck off our coats and hang them in the hallway, and Levi scrutinises Ilse’s paws carefully before she’s allowed inside. The sight we’re met with when we walk into the living room is unexpected, to say the least.

Hanji’s back, it seems, but it’s hard to tell because they’re half covered up by the person sitting in their lap making out with them. _Oh boy._

Levi clears his throat.

They don’t stop.

“Hanji,” he says.

They don’t stop.

“HANJI.”

The person in Hanji’s lap scrambles up, stumbling to his feet and hastily adjusting his skewed shirt. Hanji stares at him from across the room for a few seconds, before turning their head to look at us. They’re similarly dishevelled, their hair released from it’s ponytail to wisp around their shoulders, their top few buttons undone. Their glasses are nowhere to be seen.

“Hi Eren!” they say, pretty cheerfully for a person who just got caught with their tongue down someone’s throat. “I would give you a hug but I’m kind of dizzy right now and you’re super blurry.”

I wave at them weakly, and they grin.

_“Hanji,”_ says Levi, for the third time. He sounds irritated but unsurprised, and I get the feeling this is far from an isolated incident. “I did send you a text saying we’d be back by lunchtime.”

Hanji looks down at their watch. “It’s twelve! Moblit and I eat at one.”

“Well Eren and I eat at twelve.”

I lift a hand meekly in protest, “To be honest I’m cool with eating whenever—”

“And there is no good reason for you two to be cavorting in the living room when you know I have a guest.”

Levi folds his arms. Hanji opens their mouth to protest again, but they’re interrupted by Ilse slipping between us and trotting up to the sofa for attention. Trying to get anything out of Hanji with the dog in the room would be a wasted effort, so instead Levi rolls his eyes and turns to head into the kitchen.

Moblit and I are left face-to-face, both a little bewildered at the bizarre altercation.

“Hi, uh… you’re Moblit, right? Hanji’s partner?”

He nods quickly, stepping forward to offer me his hand. “Yeah. And you’re Eren, right? Levi’s… uh.”

I feel my face grow hot. “Classmate,” I say, and then, “Study partner,” and then, “Friend.”

“Right,” Moblit says with a soft smile, “Well… I’m sorry about all of that. We weren’t expecting you back, a-and…”

I grin, “It’s no big deal. I guess we’ll both stay for lunch?”

“I guess we will.”

———

Lunch gives Hanji and I the opportunity to get to know each other a little better. I learn that they’re a science technician at a high school in Ehrmich, where they met Moblit - who teaches literature - that they’re prone to questionable home experiments, and that they’ve known Levi since they were kids.

“They tried to make me eat sand in fourth grade and the rest is history,” Levi tells me dryly. “I should have a medal for putting up with that for twelve years.”

I snort, and Hanji winks at me from across the table. Ilse hangs around hopefully for scraps, and Levi glares daggers across the table when Hanji conspicuously drops some ham down for her.

“So,” Hanji says, mouth full, “How’re you finding college, Eren? Not too much of a strain on the old brain muscle?”

“It’s good,” I tell them, looking over at Levi. “It’s helpful to have a study buddy.”

“Uh-huh! That’s what Moblit was, back in the day!” they reply brightly. They look between us expectantly - Levi coughs and takes another sip of tea.

Moblit himself speaks up, surprisingly, since Hanji’s hardly let him get a word in all afternoon. “I heard you two got top marks on a presentation you did recently,” he comments with a polite smile. “You should tell us about that.”

“Oh!”

My face lights up. Few things get me talking as much as my music, but psychology is one of them.

“Yeah,” I say, “We couldn’t decide on Zimbardo or Milgram, so we did both. We did a comparative analysis of authority on morality, and how pretty much anyone can be taught to do crazy, awful things when you push the right buttons. Fear, mostly, and respect, and then stuff like pride, too. You know those studies?”

Hanji and Moblit shake their heads; Levi offers me an impressed nod. “Go on,” he says. “Get to the good bits.”

I grin. Psychology has always fascinated me, for as long as I knew it had a name - I remember sitting distracted in class in elementary school and watching the way the other kids reacted to each other. One would throw a paper plane or a scrunched-up spitball to get attention - another would retreat to the back desks and read in silence. We’d all act differently depending if we liked our teacher, and God help anyone who dared to be a substitute. These patterns thrilled me, enough so I could predict the behaviour of almost every kid I knew, and I still wanted more. I wanted to know _why._

It worked with music, too - tapping into the psychology of an audience was a key factor in my band’s early successes. We learned what was popular, and either covered those or based our original work on the kinds of beats and chord sequences they favoured. As we grew through high school, we turned our attention more towards the emotional response of the crowd - fast, loud music gave them a shot of adrenaline enough to get them hooked, whereas softer songs tugged at their heartstrings and pulled their feelings out into the open. In reality, I’ve probably been psychologically manipulating my fans since I was fourteen - but hey, what’s a rock star without a little undercover sociopathy?

I tell Hanji and Moblit about the prison experiment at Stanford and the electric-shock studies, and Hanji looks almost as fascinated as I feel. They lean forward and eagerly press more details out of me - “Did they die? The recipient, in the end, did they die?” - and their morbid obsession with the topic of our project makes me giddy with pride.

“Nah, nobody died, it was faked. But the person giving the shocks knew they were administering a lethal voltage and _still_ carried on, just because the dude in the white lab coat told them to.”

Hanji beams almost deliriously, tapping their fingers together. “I wear a white lab coat at work,” they murmur conspiratorially. “D’you think I could get Levi to do my bidding?”

“Tch,” scoffs Levi. “Fat chance, four-eyes. Though if anyone here was about to go apeshit crazy and start experimenting on people, all my bets would be on you. It baffles me that you’re allowed to work in a school.”

“Hey! I wouldn’t do anything mean like that,” Hanji protests. Cutlery rattles as they kick Levi under the table, and he rolls his eyes. “Eren will vouch for me! Eren, I’m nice, right? I’m a good person, aren’t I?”

Levi shakes his head quickly and mimes swiping his hand across his throat. I’m laughing too hard to answer.

———

When it’s time for me to head back home, Levi makes sure my bag is full of more homemade delicacies for my band/roommates. The bread went down a storm, and Jean was practically begging for more of it - so he gives me another loaf, a whole one this time, and some strawberry and apricot jams to go along with it.

“We’re working on a marmalade recipe,” he tells me confidently, while I’m slipping my shoes on. “Do you like it?”

“Meh,” I sigh, holding up my hand flat and tilting it side to side. “Kind of. I always found it a little bitter.”

Levi folds his arms. He raises a brow, his steely gaze growing more determined. “Is that a challenge, Jaeger? To make the perfect marmalade, just for you?”

_Just for you._ The words sound so good that I can almost taste the sweetness of the oranges right here.

“Maybe it is, Levi,” I counter, pressing a hand to my hip and grinning. “Maybe it is.”

———  
Information to Disclose:  
Flower power was a slogan used during the late 1960s and early 1970s as a symbol of passive resistance and non-violence ideology, and is rooted in the opposition movement to the Vietnam War. The expression was coined by the American beat poet Allen Ginsberg in 1965 as a means to transform war protests into peaceful, pacifist gatherings, often symbolised by the placement of flowers into the gun barrels of riot police and soldiers.  
———


	9. Stranger To You And Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for The 104th to go head-to-head with Crimson Arrow in a battle of the bands for only the second time, and there's plenty at stake now Eren knows that Annie's seeking a confrontation. Armed with coloured t-shirts and plenty of paint, Mikasa's ready to give the fight of her life. 
> 
> For Eren, the result of this competition means far more than just the prize money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! It's Chapter 9!!!
> 
> The live version of _In The Air Tonight_ I used as a reference can be found [here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IeDMnyQzS88) It's a blast, so listen while you read if you like! (the synths in this are so yummy. is it acceptable to describe synths as yummy? who knows.)
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your continued support! Please tell your friends about MTaF if you haven't yet - I'd love to get to 100 kudos for the halfway mark in a few chapters' time!! <3
> 
> (eren--gayger on Tumblr)

All three bands make it through the preliminaries and the semi-final - we rank third, Wings of Liberty fifth and Crimson Arrow second. I decide to call Levi the Thursday before the competition. It takes him a few rings to pick up, and the anxiety swirls deeply in the pit of my stomach.

“Eren?”

“Hey,” I breathe out. I’m winded with relief that he answered, but the discomfort of knowing that I have no more than twenty-four hours until my certain confrontation with Annie is still in the forefront of my mind. “I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he says instantly. “You’ve practiced well. The paint will go down a storm.”

“No, no,” I murmur. I lean back against my bedroom wall, staring at the assorted posters of rock bands and comic book characters above my bed. “I’m… I’m talking about Annie. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Levi.”

“Mmm.”

He sounds thoughtful - careful and sympathetic. His next response is tinged with a hint of concern. “You don’t think she wants a physical fight, do you?”

I stick my free hand through my hair. “If she does, she knows I’ll lose. She’s kicked my ass before, she was always stronger than me. Mikasa’s the only person who can match her.”

“Mikasa will be there with you.”

I slip down the wall until my butt hits the carpet, and I stretch my legs out in front of me. “I know.”

“Eren,” says Levi softly. “I can’t vouch for Annie because I don’t know her, but I can vouch for you. You’re strong, like I told you before. If it turns out that Annie can’t be reasoned with, nobody’s gonna blame you for trying, but…”

“But?”

“I can sympathise with the silent, abrasive type. Hopefully you can get through to her like you did with me.”

That comment brings a slightly sardonic laugh out of me. “Levi, you’re different. We’re friends, we’ve got stuff in common.”

“And you’re telling me you weren’t friends with her? That you didn’t have anything in common with her? Come on.”

I bite my lip.

“Levi, I miss her. We all miss her. Things aren’t like they were before I fell out with her.”

“And things might not go back the way they were at all,” Levi says truthfully, “But you’ll never know if you don’t face her. So do your best, Eren, and I’ll be out there watching you. Okay?”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Okay. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

Silence. I sniff, swallowing again, willing my eyes to stay dry. “Levi?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. This is just… stupid college kid drama. I guess I should just be grateful that I’m here.”

I hear Levi sigh, but he doesn’t sound frustrated. “You _are_ grateful. I see that in you every day you come to class with that big grin on your face. I don’t care what drama you bring to me, Eren, _all_ of your problems are valid. Besides, you’ve been through a hell of a lot. You’ve got a right to not want any more pain.”

“So do you,” I tell him.

“Mm,” I mark the amusement in his voice. “Maybe that’s why the universe sent you to me.”

My face heats up. I snort into my hand, “Bastard,” and then: “… likewise. You know.”

“I know.”

———

The next day is a blur. We spend the morning running through the song, and Jean brings along the completed t-shirts. We change into them and shut off the basement lights, watching as the assorted pride flags come into full view. They look incredible.

“Yo, look!” yells Mikasa, pointing towards the mirror. “He even wrote our names on the back!”

Sure enough, when I turn my head to look at my reflection I see _Eren_ written in gaudy multicolour against the black fabric, just a couple of shades short of matching the gay pride flag on the front.

“Jean… these are amazing,” I tell him breathlessly. Jean tugs his own bisexual pride shirt down and admires it in the mirror, sticking a hand through his hair and smirking.

“I guess I did a pretty okay job,” he grins. “Man. Paint was such a good idea, we should bust that out again for Pride this summer.”

I feel a flush of happiness, “Well, you’ve got Levi to thank for that.”

Jean looks over at me, and his expression turns so sly that my stomach drops through the floor.

“What?”

“Ah, nothin’. Just that your face is the same colour as the fluorescent red paint, that’s all.”

He lifts up the red bottle for comparison, and I feel uselessly embarrassed. “Shut up, dipshit! I’m just happy!”

It’s no use - Jean’s squishing the bottle against my cheek. “Is that the shade you go when Levi sucks y—”

I wrestle the bottle off him and run across the room. He follows me, and soon we’re grappling with it, Jean swiping above my head to claw it back. I think I hear Armin mutter some kind of warning.

One wrong step and the cap flicks open, squirting red paint over Mikasa’s drum kit. Everyone freezes.

“Oh, good going you _assholes,”_ Mikasa whines, striding over to drag us both away from the drums. The paint dribbles a Hansel-and-Gretel trail across the concrete floor.

“It was dark!” Jean protests. “Eren shouldn’t have run off with it—”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault now—”

I shove Jean, and he shoves me back until we’re covered up our arms in red paint. Mikasa snatches the bottle off us and storms towards the stairs.

“Wait!” Armin cries. “Mikasa, Jean, Eren, wait!”

We stop and stare at him. He points slowly over to the drum kit.

“Look.”

We look.

The paint is scattered across the kit, splattering the hi-hat and the snare, dribbling down the bass to its pedal - and we can see every single drop of it. In the near pitch-darkness of the room, the drum kit is illuminated by the splotches of red paint, glowing like something from outer space. I look down at myself and Jean and realise we’re glowing too - not just our t-shirts but on our skin, luminous freckles running down our arms.

“Whoa,” we seem to breathe in unison.

“Hey, Armin,” I say, a wicked grin spreading across my face. I dip my forefinger in the wet paint on my wrist and rush towards him, painting each cheek with warrior stripes. He makes a squeak of protest, but Mikasa takes him by the shoulders and steers him towards the mirror.

“Oh,” he gasps, and reaches a hand up to smear the paint down his face. He beams ear-to-ear.

“Are… you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” murmurs Jean.

Mikasa takes the yellow bottle and pours a tiny amount in her palm, writing her name on her forehead. She spins on her heels and lunges towards Jean, and he backs away so hard he nearly trips over his bass.

———

We arrive at The Barracks early on Saturday night. By some miracle we got permission from the event organisers to cover the stage in paint, so we come armed with enough of it to last us into next year. The looming performance is just about taking my attention away from Annie, and I’m eternally grateful when we run into Wings of Liberty in the green room.

Sasha and Connie excitedly explain that they’re doing a punk pop cover of _Walking on Sunshine,_ hence why they’ve all come in overbearing shades of yellow. We explain our plan, too, and they cup their hands over our t-shirts to take a closer look at the glowing paint.

“Man, that’s such a good idea!” grins Connie. He plucks up Armin’s t-shirt and squints at the faint flag on the front. “Which one is this?”

“Asexuality,” Armin explains, hands clasped meekly together behind his back. He smiles shyly. “Cool, right?”

“Way past cool,” Connie confirms, giving Armin a thumbs-up.

Reiner picks up my shirt and unsuccessfully attempts to stretch it over his torso. He’s so ripped you’d need five of my shirts to cover him, I reckon. “I’ve gotta get my hands on some of these for me and Bertl. We’d never wear anything else.”

He tosses the shirt back at me. “Oh,” he adds, “by the way, Eren, uh… Bertl and I are really sorry, you know. I’m sure he’ll be here to apologise too, in person, but… Annie’s the one who really needs to explain it.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, sucking in a deep breath. “Is she…”

I see Mikasa step forward out of the corner of my eye.

“Is she okay?”

Reiner places a hand on his hip and sighs. “It’ll be better if she tells you herself, dude. It’s not really my place.”

I nod, chewing so hard on my lip it starts to sting. “I understand.”

———

Wings of Liberty are up first, so we get the opportunity to go out and watch them from the audience. We’re just getting settled when I feel a sharp tap on my back, and I spin on my heels to see a young woman with a strawberry-blonde bob and wide grin.

“Hey, Eren.”

“Petra!”

I haven’t seen her since my last social work appointment at the beginning of January, since they’re quarter-yearly. She’s been pretty busy, too, by the looks of things - her bump’s twice as big as it was last time we met up. We share a quick hug and exchange small talk.

“We’re up third,” I explain. “We’ve gotta run after Liberty perform, but you’ll see us after. How are things with you?”

Petra nods, smiling sweetly. “Not too bad. Auruo switched jobs, I’m going on maternity in a couple weeks. Our time’s almost up, kiddo.”

I feel my heart clench a little. After Petra leaves, Mikasa and I are being signed off the register. Our last assessment proved we’re settled enough to look after ourselves - but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss our meetings. Petra’s been working with us since I was fifteen.

“Can we come visit?” I ask hopefully. Petra’s got one kid already, a boy named Gunther - he’ll be turning five in July. I babysit him every once in a while, and although I’m a no-nonsense rock-and-roll kinda guy who’ll never admit it out loud, I’m unreasonably excited for her new arrival too.

“Of course,” she says, “Gunther’s been asking after you!”

I remember my very first appointment with Petra. I was flanked on either side by Mikasa and Armin, and they practically had to drag me in kicking and screaming. I spat and swore at Petra and she took it all, barely even flinching when Mikasa had to pull me back to control my temper. At that time we were still living with Dad, and he was losing his grip on us and himself - though I never dared to admit it.

You see, my dad never took hard drugs. It might have seemed like it from how spaced-out he became, how he’d leave for days at a time and barely communicate, but everything he took you could find in the medicine section of a supermarket. He was a pharmacist for most of his adult life, only quitting a couple of years after Mom died. He knew exactly what to take to make him so sedated he couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

It took me a long time to adjust to Petra being around. We were told we couldn’t live with Dad because he couldn’t take care of us, and we were moved to a halfway house. That’s probably when my anger was the worst. I couldn’t understand why they thought Dad wasn’t good enough. It was only about a year after his death that I realised that nobody was _blaming_ him, he was just ill, like Mom was ill - and like Mom, his illness killed him. It hurt Mikasa just as much as it hurt me, and I remember hearing her cry some nights when she thought I was asleep.

Petra was always there, though. Any time of day or night, even when Gunther was tiny, I could call her up. She’d bring us groceries, help us with chores, let us come round to her place to eat or study. When Jean joined our band in the first summer of high school, Petra helped us set up the new HQ in his parents’ basement.

There were a couple of times she talked me down from seriously hurting myself, too.

I’m not like that anymore, thank God, but it’s daunting to think our time with Petra’s almost done. Adulthood - real adulthood - stretches out before me, and it’s like gazing off the edge of a cliff.

We chatter some more before the competition begins, and then dance and clap our way through an almost overwhelmingly punk rendition of _Walking on Sunshine._ Before we know it, it’s time to go, and we bid Petra goodbye and start making our way out. We pass through the front of the audience, a few people recognising us and asking for high-fives. Someone grips my hand from behind me, and I struggle to tug away.

“Yo, Eren, it’s your boyfriend,” drawls Jean, and I whip my head around to lock eyes with Levi.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

Mikasa beckons me forward, so I do the only thing I can think to do. I grab Levi by the shoulders and hug him, brief and tight.

“Good luck,” he murmurs against my ear.

———

We have the usual huddle before we go out, our t-shirts glowing brightly.

“Tonight’s not just about showing the city our colour,” I tell them. “It’s about figuring this out, once and for all. For everyone this time.”

I look between them, and Armin nods determinedly. We grip each other tight.

The curtain lifts. We somehow manage to walk to our instruments without tripping over anything, and the crowd raises a cheer for our glow-in-the-dark pride flags. There’s already a bit of paint streaked on our cheeks, but we brought along plenty just in case. I loop Lucy’s strap around my shoulders.

The atmosphere is dark, heavy and brooding as Mikasa sets up a steady beat on her electronic deck. I strum a chord, loud and echoing, and Armin follows with low, thrumming notes on his keyboard. Jean and I start to circle each other, and though we can’t see from where we are, it should look pretty damn good with no lights on the stage. All the crowd can see are the glowing flags and the lines of colour on our skin - apart from that, it’s pitch black. I pull my wireless microphone down to meet my mouth.

_“I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord,_  
_And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord—_  
_Can you feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord? Oh Lord…”_

I strum another chord, and it reverberates through my feet. The audience is pretty much silent, watching us expectantly, hypnotised by sound.

_“Well if you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand,_  
_I’ve seen your face before my friend, but I don’t know if you know who I am._  
_Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes,_  
_So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you’ve been—_  
_It’s all been a pack of lies…”_

I can’t help thinking of Annie while I sing. There’s a lot of anger still stuck in my heart from when she cut us all off, and for a long time I wondered if her entire friendship with us had been a lie. Now we’re older, and my fury’s turned to apathy. I’m not sure if she knows the person I am now, or even if she wants to know. I was forced to move on against my will, so that’s what I did.

_“I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord,_  
_Well I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord—_  
_I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord,_  
_Well I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord, oh Lord…”_

Jean joins me with backing vocals for the next slow chorus, the tension still mounting. My voice echoes around me, filling the darkness up with deep noise. My skin starts to prickle. The room feels electric, sizzling like a live wire as we move closer to the clattering final section.

_“Well I remember, I remember, don’t worry, how could I ever forget?_  
_It’s the first time, the last time we ever met,_  
_But I know the reason why you keep your silence up, no you don’t fool me…”_

I wonder if Crimson Arrow are out there listening. The irony of how well the lyrics fit the situation isn’t lost on me, and I squint out over the crowd, wondering if Annie can hear me. In song rather than words, I’m demanding an answer - an end to all of that bitterness, if I can find it. It wrings my soul and makes my head hurt.

_“Well the hurt doesn’t show, but the pain still grows,_  
_It’s no stranger to you and me—”_

Mikasa wastes no time in launching into that legendary drum solo. We put enough paint on each drum beforehand so that when she rolls hard across the kit it splatters over the stage, covering us in flecks of vibrant colour. The audience goes crazy, and the stage lights shoot up to reveal us fully.

_“I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord,_  
_Well I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord—”_

Mikasa grins a phosphorescent grin and keeps drumming with enough force to spray more of the paint around, flicking her drumsticks at us so we get a decent spray on our instruments and faces. It looks insanely cool, and I’m fuelled with newfound inspiration as I bend down towards the audience and - _yes, there he is, there’s Levi, oh man did I get paint on his face?_

_“I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Lord,_  
_Well I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord…_  
_I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight, oh Loo-ord!_  
_Well I’ve been waiting for this moment for a-a-ll my life!”_

I belt out the last few lines a couple of times before the music starts to fade, and we’re left with nothing but Mikasa’s steady beat. She finishes with another crashing drumroll, her hair falling loose from its ties and whipping around her head as her hands beat furiously across the kit. The sound stops as abruptly as it started, and a second later the crowd erupts in cheers.

Jean and I both practically drop our guitars to run behind the drum kit and haul Mikasa out, pulling her to the front of the stage where she can receive the applause she deserves. She clutches her paint-covered sticks and laughs, punching the air with her free fist.

“Everybody,” calls the announcer, “Give it up for… The 104th!”

———

We manage to make it back out to the audience before the fifth performance - Crimson Arrow’s. I stroll out to the front, the paint still wet on my skin, and as soon as Levi spots me he hauls me over by the collar and smears his paint-splattered cheek against my shirt.

“Hey!” I laugh, playfully shoving him back. “It was an accident!”

“Accident my ass.”

I grin at him, and he smirks right back.

“Did I do good?” I ask him.

“You hardly did shit,” he says bluntly, pointing at Mikasa. “It was all her. And _she_ did incredibly.”

Mikasa grins next to me, and leans over to high-five Levi, glowing paint be damned. I can’t help feeling proud of her.

Jean wastes no time in locating Wings of Liberty and dragging them over so we can cover them in paint, too - and by that I mostly mean him covering Marco in gross fluorescent kisses. They slap us on the shoulders and congratulate Mikasa on her crazy Phil Collins impression.

After a while of chatter, I notice Levi shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Oh,” I interrupt, “oh, guys, hold up, you haven’t met Levi yet.”

Connie and Sasha immediately crane like a pair of comical giraffes to see him, and he offers them a short wave.

“You’re Levi?” asks Connie.

 _“The_ Levi?” asks Sasha.

“The Levi Eren won’t shut up about?” asks Reiner.

I lean over to jab Reiner’s ribs and smear his beard with green paint. Levi looks amused but perplexed.

“Guess I am,” he says, “Unless, you know, Eren’s got a bunch of Levis tucked away.”

Connie beams, “Man, he’s told us so much about you. You’re so cool.”

Sasha jogs on the spot. “Yeah, he said you introduced him to all these weird English cookies and I’m totally down for that.”

Levi’s expression shifts from confusion to contentment. His lips turn up in a small, soft smile.

“Sounds like you’ve been singing my praises to this lot, Jaeger.”

I grin, shrugging lightly. “Just the truth.”

I’m not expecting his arm to slide around my waist. It catches me completely unaware, and I jump a little, heat rushing up to my face. He notices and draws it back again instantly. I take a deep breath in.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, and his arm moves back.

———

After a significant amount of shuffling on stage, the instruments of the forth band have been replaced with a large keyboard and… a swing? It’s hanging down from the rafters like it might from a tree, a plank of wood threaded through rope. The stage is also covered in flowers, of almost every colour - muted shades of cream and lilac, lemon yellow and peach, soft blues and pinks. Armin looks like he’s about to sneeze at the sight of it.

“Oh boy,” murmurs Jean, leaning over. “It’s ballad time, apparently.”

I squint at the stage - there’s no sign of Crimson Arrow yet. It’s almost startling to see the setup.

“Did they drop out?” I ask Armin. He shakes his head. “Then what’s with all… that?”

Mikasa’s watching the stage like a hawk, too. Her eyes are wide in confusion - we both expected a _fight_ from Crimson Arrow, something explosive and challenging like ours - but from here, it doesn’t look like that’s what we’re gonna get.

Our suspicions are confirmed when Bertholdt and Annie step out by themselves. Bertholdt’s wearing a crisp white shirt, and Annie’s in a pastel pink dress and knee-high boots - and they’re both wearing faux wings on their backs.

Bertholdt makes his way to the keyboard, and Annie slips herself down into the swing seat, one hand on the rope while the other clutches her microphone. They’re lit by a single, soft spotlight bathing the stage in amber, and their wings catch the light on the tips and glitter it back to the audience.

“Woohoo, go Bertholdt!”

A trickle of laughter lifts from the audience as pretty much everyone turns to stare at Reiner. Bertholdt gives him a shy thumbs-up, and Reiner goes the colour of a strawberry.

Bertl lifts his hands gracefully, and starts to play. Annie breathes in to sing.

_“We know full well there’s just time,_  
_So is it wrong to dance this line?_  
_If your heart was full of love,_  
_Could you give… it up?”_

Annie’s voice is flawless, as always, sliding from note to note like a dewdrop rolling down a leaf. The expression on her face is hard to read, but from here she looks haunted and melancholic.

I turn to gaze at Mikasa, and her eyes are rooted on Annie. This isn’t what we expected in the slightest.

_“’Cause what about, what about angels?_  
_They will come, they will go, make us special, oh—_  
_Don’t give me up,_  
_Don’t give— me up…”_

The audience starts to applaud at the sound of Annie’s perfect voice drifting through the speakers. I look over at Armin, and his jaw’s hanging open.

Bertholdt keeps playing, and behind him appears Historia in a similar dress, brandishing a violin for the next chorus. Ymir’s there too, standing by the swing with a microphone of her own. She provides background vocals so soothing I’m shocked they’re coming from someone like her.

_“How unfair, it’s just our luck,_  
_Found something real that’s out of touch,_  
_But if you’d search the whole wide world, oh—_  
_Would you dare… to let it go?”_

Together, the band has everyone in the audience leaning forward to listen with melting hearts. Annie’s lyrics are so woeful and solemn that I wonder for a moment why the hell she even picked a song like this. If this is for us, I have no idea what to make of it.

It sounds almost like she misses me.

_“’Cause what about, what about angels?_  
_They will come, they will go, make us special, oh—_  
_Don’t give me up,_  
_Don’t give— me up…_

_“’Cause what about, what about angels?_  
_They will come, they will go, make us special—_

_“It’s not about, not about angels—”_

The music fades. Crimson Arrow stand to receive their applause. My chest aches, and when I look over at Levi he asks if I’m okay.

I can’t answer.

———

The judging panel take longer than usual. When the announcer returns to declare the winner, I find myself biting incessantly at my fingernails.

“With such a wide array of talent on show tonight, the judges struggled to choose between two bands they thought battled hardest of all. With that in mind, we’ve chosen to split this competition’s prize—”

Almost all of us let out a gasp in unison. My eyes are glued to the stage.

“So, would the lead singers of The 104th _and_ Crimson Arrow please make their way up!”

Levi pushes me forward, and I look back at him reluctantly. It doesn’t seem real - my legs are numb, barely carrying me up there. I’m only offered some relief when they call up Mikasa and Bertholdt for special mentions too.

Annie and I each take our envelopes, and our gazes lock. She manages to speak over the applause.

“Meet me outside in fifteen minutes.”

I nod.

———  
Information to Disclose;  
In The Air Tonight is the debut solo single by the English singer-songwriter and drummer Phil Collins. It was released as the lead single from Collins' debut solo album, Face Value, in January 1981. While it was initially rumoured to be written about a drowning that Collins allegedly witnessed, he debunked these rumours several times throughout his career and emphasised the true meaning of the song as an expression of betrayal and resentment after his divorce.  
———


	10. Reflections In The Puddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren’s confrontation with Annie digs up a hoard of bad memories he wasn’t expecting to resurface, and he’s left with an aching heart despite his competition victory. To try and soothe him, Levi suggests they take a trip to a place that will unearth some memories of his own - and perhaps Eren will learn that he’s not quite as alone as he once thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TEN. DOUBLE DIGITS. HECK YES.
> 
> This is a double success, as not only are we almost halfway through MTaF, but I managed to reach 2,000 followers on my Tumblr! Thank you so much to everyone who follows me there (eren--gayger) - as a celebration, I’ve decided to host a two-day Q&A session where I’ll answer pretty much any questions you have for me about my blog and writing!
> 
> This chapter was good to write, so I hope you enjoy it - but please bear in mind that it includes mentions of _suicide, drug use, prostitution and rape,_ so if any of those topics make you uncomfortable, don’t feel obliged to read all of it.
> 
> Take care, buddies!!

We pull on jackets and coats and follow Crimson Arrow outside to the parking lot. It’s just finished raining, and the air is heavy and fresh, the soft, slick noise of car tyres dragging over groundwater in the distance. Streetlights illuminate the tarmac, forming rings of mirrored light around the puddles.

We face each other - me, Armin, Mikasa and Levi facing Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt - and if the atmosphere wasn’t so heavy and serious it might have looked comical. Annie folds her arms across her chest.

“First off, get rid of your little friend.”

She nods towards Levi, and he blinks.

“Yeah, you, short stack. I don’t know who you are, so this is none of your business.”

Levi looks at me. I can he’s swallowing down anger from the way his brow furrows and his jaw works, but I gesture for him to go. “It’ll be okay,” I say. His hand slips into mine for a second and squeezes before he jogs back down the path.

“Happy?” Mikasa bites.

Annie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You four can go too.”

Bertholdt and Reiner exchange a glance behind her. “What, and us?”

“Yeah. Just me and Eren, alright?”

Mikasa leans on one hip, staring Annie down. “I’m not going.”

Annie huffs a sigh. “I’m not gonna hurt him. I just want to talk.”

She looks frustrated, but not threatening. I decide to take a chance, and shoo Mikasa and Armin back. “Go wait with Levi. It’ll be fine.”

Armin bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

They hesitate for a moment before Mikasa finally concedes, taking Armin’s hand and pulling him away. Then it really is just me and Annie, and when I look at her she averts her gaze, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“So…” I say. I swing my leg back and forth, dipping the toe of my sneaker into a puddle. I gaze down at my arms - there’s still a few remnants of glowing paint I didn’t manage to wash off.

“How did you feel when your dad died?”

The question almost makes me fall backwards. I look up, horrified, and Annie meets my gaze. She seems completely unfazed.

“What?”

“Tell me. The day it happened, how did you feel?”

My brain scrambles for an answer. I’m flooded with memories and the familiar ache in my heart starts stirring, like blowing dust off a mantelpiece of old photos.

“Mad, like… crazy mad, and furious mad. Hopeless. Exhausted. Terrified. Like the floor had dropped out under me. I got really sick right after, too, for like a week. I couldn’t really function for a while.”

Annie nods. I wonder why she’s doing this, whether this is all some kind of cruel joke to twist a knife in my chest, but I clench my fists and give her the benefit of the doubt for now.

“I remember you taking that time off school, and people saying stuff about it,” she murmurs. “They said that your dad drugged you to keep you asleep, that you’d been arrested, that your dad had been beating you and Mikasa. I knew Grisha, Eren. I knew none of that was true, and I worked real hard to keep those stupid rumours at bay. I didn’t want you to go through anything else when you came back to school.

“But then my dad had his heart attack and died the February after - when we had all that heavy snow, remember? - and I took time off, and didn’t see you or Mikasa for ages. And when I got back…”

“That’s when you stopped talking to us,” I tell her. She nods.

“I… couldn’t do it, Eren. I got back into school and you were there, and you were… laughing, and joking around, playing your guitar and having fun. I wanted to talk to you about stuff, but you were so… so _happy,_ Eren! Why were you so happy?”

My mouth goes dry. It’s not the kind of question I expected from her at all. “I…”

“It made me mad,” she continues. I meet her gaze, and she seems… almost remorseful. “Because I knew your dad was your best friend, as my dad was mine. Your dad helped us build my treehouse when we were kids. I knew how close you were to him, so why…”

Her voice cracks.

“Why was his death not killing you like my dad’s was killing me?!”

The words crackle like lightening and hang heavy in the air afterwards. I feel droplets of rain on my uncovered arms, and when I lift my head one hits me on the nose.

“Annie…”

“I don’t get it! I still don’t get it! How could you just… cope, like that? Playing in your band and passing your classes… it took everything I had in me not to… not to…”

“Kill yourself?”

Annie’s crying. I’m not sure whether the streaks of moisture down her face are raindrops or tears. She nods, mouth opening in a silent sob.

“I attempted,” I tell her. I swallow hard, because this is the hardest thing for me to talk about, and even the thought of it makes my stomach twist like wringing fabric - “I attempted just before my birthday that year. So don’t…”

My vision grows blurry. I want to reach out to her, but I don’t know how. My arms curl around myself.

“D-don’t th… think I was coping, because I f-fucking wasn’t, okay? I’m not mad, I ju-just need you to… to know. All of my happiness, h-however much you saw… it was just a mask. I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to throw anything in your face. I never was. I just… God. I cou… couldn’t process it. Maybe… maybe I still haven’t.”

I feel my legs start to shake, my knees almost buckling beneath me. Annie sniffles, pulling her hood up around her face.

“I d-don’t wanna do this anymore, Annie,” I say, and I mean it. Somewhere in the back of my memory is a Polaroid picture of the festival we went to, and the taste of apricot. “I don’t w-want this to… to make you hate me. I know… I know things are hard for you, and they were hard for me, too. Even… even if we can’t go b-back to how things were, I—”

“Can I hug you?”

“What?”

Annie steps forward, drawing her hands away from her face. Her lip quivers. “I… I thought it’d be better if I asked. Can I hug you?”

“Yeah.”

She holds her arms out, and this time I don’t care how hard I’m crying when I bury my face into her shoulder and clutch her.

“I’m sorry!” she cries into my chest. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I don’t know, I wanted you to hear me! I thought… I thought if I started a fight you might actually _listen_ to me.”

I squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry for pushing you away when my dad died.”

“I guess we both weren’t coping, huh?”

We laugh sardonically, and Annie pulls back and swipes her hair out of her eyes. We exchange weak, teary smiles.

“Eren?” I hear someone call behind me, “Eren, are you okay?”

I turn to see Levi jogging towards me, and I feel my eyes sting with fresh tears. No sooner than he reaches me do I collapse forward against him, and he winds his arms tight around my waist.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I hear more footsteps as the rest of my friends approach, Bertholdt and Reiner wrapping Annie in a similar hug. We both attempt to sniffle out apologies and say something along the lines of ‘we’re fine’.

“Did you forgive her?” asks Armin. I nod against Levi’s chest, and feel myself enveloped in more warmth as Mikasa attempts to hug me from the other side. Armin bites his lip.

“She explained it, last month,” he tells me, his voice muffled through the hug blocking my ears. “When I talked to her. She said she… wanted to be a better person, and I said you would too. We all had so much going on that it became impossible to listen to each other.”

“Do you guys forgive us?” murmurs Reiner behind him. “I know we apologised already, but… now you know the truth.”

“My henchmen,” muffles Annie through Bertholdt’s sweatshirt. He chuckles.

“We forgive you,” says Armin. I look up at Mikasa, and she nods.

———

Once Annie and I have had a chance to calm down, we make our way back to the green room where Jean’s waiting with Wings of Liberty. Annie strides right up to Jean, pulls him out of Marco’s lap and stuffs an envelope into his hands.

“Uh… hi? What’s going on?”

Jean takes the envelope and opens it an inch, peering inside. He looks up at Annie, and then behind her at the rest of us.

“This… this is your half of the prize money,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” says Annie. “You need money for spare parts, right?”  
“I do, but…”

Annie turns to face us. She pulls her hood back down, unhooking her hair from underneath it.

“I already apologised to these guys,” she says, “but I want to say sorry to you too, Jean. It was your gear that I tampered with, and I know you spent a lot of time building it… so please, take the money to fix it with. … We’ve decided to move forward, to try to be friends again.”

Jean looks over at me, cocking an eyebrow. I offer him a wobbly smile.

“I forgive her,” I say. “And she’s forgiven me too, you know, so… I reckon it’ll be okay.”

He hesitates for a moment, before tugging the cash out of the envelope and jamming it in his pocket. “Thanks, Annie. I reckon we’re cool.”

———

I’m left with a melancholic, bittersweet feeling in the pit of my stomach that lingers when I say goodnight to Levi and head home. Mikasa, Armin and I barely talk, instead letting Jean and Marco burble on happily in the front seats, but Armin reaches over to clasp my hand with his own. It’s been a long day.

I slide into bed around eleven, and spend more than enough time staring blankly up at the ceiling. The aching in my heart refuses to dull as I close my eyes and see my dad behind them - driving me and Mikasa around the city, giving me my first guitar, teaching me how to play. I hear the sound of his laugh, and then the sound of his crying. The way he cried the night my mom passed away, that wretched sobbing—

I see him laying motionless on his bed, face-down, consciousness slipping to nothing.

I turn onto my side, and a tear rolls down over my nose to soak into my pillow.

Nine hours later, I’m woken by my phone buzzing on my bedside table. I grapple clumsily to grab it, my eyes still heavy from sleep, my vision crossed when I force them open. The sunlight pokes through the gaps in the blinds, throwing streaks of gold on the duvet.

**Levi - 8:32am**  
_Hey. Hope you’re doing alright, Eren._

**Levi - 8:35am**  
_I wondered if you might like to hang out today. I had something planned and it’d be nice if you could join me._

**Levi - 8:38am**  
_Don’t worry at all if you’re not feeling up to it. Your choice._

I roll over and sit up, scrunching my fists against my eyes in a vain attempt to rid myself of the lingering tiredness. I yawn, and start to type.

**Me**  
_Yeah sure. Just lemme eat something._

**Levi**  
_Okay. I’ll be over in thirty minutes._

———

Levi arrives with a basket in his arms. At first glance it looks like a laundry basket, but on closer inspection I realise it’s more of a picnic hamper.

“Levi with an R,” I grin.

“Eren with an E,” he says.

I gesture to the hamper. “What’s in there? Can I look?”

“Sure.”

He lifts open the top, and inside is an assortment of little things: groceries, in tins or bags, toiletries, plenty of things to clean with.

“Uhh.”

I look up at him expectantly. “What’s… where are we going? Looks like this is your weekly shop. In a hamper.”

“Close, but no,” Levi smiles. “This is for my mother.”

My jaw drops open. “We’re going to visit your mom? Really?!”

He nods. “Yeah, I thought it might help you feel a bit better. C’mon, we have a bus to catch.”

I shout my goodbyes to my friends and we hop out of the door, taking the short walk to the bus stop across the street. I take the basket from Levi, and he looks privately relieved - it’s heavy, but I’m so used to carrying musical equipment that it hardly matters to me at all. We’re only waiting for around five minutes before the bus pulls up, and Levi buys two tickets to Sina.

“It’s pretty far,” I comment as we sit down - Sina’s around forty minutes away in good traffic. “Why’s that?”

“I… wasn’t expecting to have to come to college in Trost, back when I…”

Levi bites his lip, drawing his coat up around himself. I tilt my head at him, and he glances over at the condensation dribbling down the window pane.

“I had applied to go to Sina’s college, when I was seventeen, and I spent the last year of high school planning to major in Business Studies. Farlan and Isabel were coming too, we were going together, but…”

 _That winter,_ I think with a grimace. _The accident._

“I tried to go the following fall, I really did. But I just… couldn’t bring myself. We had this weird dream, you see.”

I nod, listening intently. His eyes move back to mine, and hold a certain sparkle I can’t quite place.

“We were going to open a curiosity shop and tearoom, you know. A real Dickensian kind of thing. Farlan was pretty hot on little antiques and the like, he knew how to date objects and estimate their value, and me, well. I was ready to sell a life’s supply of tea to anybody who wanted it, myself included. On staff discount, of course.”

“And Issy?”

“Issy loved people,” Levi says fondly. His mouth curls up in a soft smile. “All she ever wanted to do was talk to other people, serve them, help them. Hear their stories, and earn their trust. She was amazing with people. … With me, especially, which is why… why it hurts…”

He trails off, and lifts his thumb to his mouth to chew at the skin around the edge. I catch him, and gently pull his hand back down.

“Don’t, Levi,” I tell him softly, the same tone he’s used to warn me about such habits a thousand times over. “There might be germs.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “Thank you.”

My hand rests on his arm. “We can talk about something else, if you want. There’s no pressure to keep going.”

Levi shakes his head. “No, no. I can’t keep all these secrets from you forever. Journeys are a good time to get things out in the open, I find.”

I nod again, and wait for him to find his words. He props his arm up on the slanted windowsill.

“Well, anyway… I dropped out, no surprises there. I moved back in with my mother, and she was there for me as she always had been. She was my rock. She still is, but… Sina was so soured for me, Eren. I hope you can understand what I mean by that.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, recalling the shivers I feel each time we happen to pass my childhood home. “Yeah, I do.”

“So… I decided to move to Trost with my mother’s blessing, in a little apartment to begin with. I had hardly any money, and I was so down and out of it that… ugh. Promise you won’t think less of me?”

I blink. “Think… less of you? For what? Of course not!”

Levi snickers. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Anything,” I wager. “I’ll forgive anything.”

“Even axe murder?”

I smirk. “Possibly not. I hate that body spray, Jean used to wear way too much of it in high school.”

Levi laughs, and nudges me. “You wore too much of it too, don’t lie to me.”

I make a sound like a ‘wrong’ buzzer on a quiz show. “Nope! Axe is only for straight guys. Or guys who think they’re straight until they make out with their best friend Marco.”

Levi hums. He looks at me closely for a moment, and I feel slightly unsettled.

“What… what’s up?”

“Oh, it’s just… I love how open you are,” he murmurs. “How long have you been out?”

“Since senior year,” I tell him proudly. “I always knew though. I think I would have been out sooner if life had been easier on me, heh. Why?”

I see Levi press his fingers together, avoiding my gaze. “It took me until I was twenty-five, and I’m still not entirely comfortable with myself. It’s complicated.”

The realisation hits me like a block of concrete.

“You’re gay?”

“Yeah.”

I offer him my fist - he bumps it, and I see a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m glad you appreciate that,” he tells me, amusement in his voice.

“I do!” I return. “I do, it’s nice. I don’t have many… uh. Role models, I guess? I mean, I have friends who are, but… I really look up to you, man.”

Levi’s response is a quirk of his brow. “You’ll be unlikely to look up to me after I finish what I was saying.”

“Go on, then. Tell me about your crimes.”

“I’m serious. And they _were_ crimes.”

I stall. “What… really?”

Levi looks over his shoulder - presumably to make sure there aren’t any old ladies eavesdropping on us. “Kind of. I… after the accident, when I moved out to Trost, I… I got involved with a bad crowd.”

I open my mouth to say something, and he lifts his hand.

“Listen, I was different in those days. I wasn’t half as level-headed and sensible as you are.”

I snort.

“I mean it,” he says. “I was so torn up about Farlan and Issy that I kind of lost all purpose. I started running around with a street gang, stealing little things for myself. It was how I survived, for a while.”

“Whoa,” I breathe. Levi stays silent, presumably to let it sink in a little. I feel a twist of pity in my gut. “Did you… ever…”

“Go to jail?” Levi finishes. “No. I was arrested a few times, and I was… hm, I must have been around twenty-four when I met Erwin.”

I blink. “Professor Smith? What does he have to do with this?”

Levi cocks a brow at me, laughing quietly. “You’re really good at this interrupting thing, aren’t you?”

“Ah. Sorry. Carry on.”

“It’s no problem,” he clarifies. “I’m glad you’re so interested to hear it. I don’t… I’m not proud of what I was doing, Eren. It’s the one thing in life I regret most deeply.”

Our gazes meet. Levi purses his lips, and I feel compelled to reach my hand over and lay it atop his. “Levi… I don’t care. I mean - uh, shit, you know. I do care, of course I care, just… not… I don’t judge you, or hold it against you. You learned from your mistakes. That’s the best thing that can come out of a situation like that.”

Levi sighs. “Thank you. I really appreciate that, honestly. It’s just… I… after everything Maman did to ensure I didn’t have to turn to crime to survive, there I was. So I was Levi, the grumpy little shithead who looted shops and destroyed property and used that as an outlet for his issues, meanwhile my sweet mother was stuck at home none the wiser. Until my third arrest… a big fat threat of jail hanging over my head. They had footage that time, see, I’d been lax, and they’d caught me… tch. Idiot, I told you. I was an idiot.”

I keep listening, offering him a sympathetic nod, and he seems to understand this as an invitation to continue talking.

“So they had my records, and called my mother, and she came to the station, and her health wasn’t that good… ah, I’ll explain that in a moment. She came along, and sat down next to the cell I was stuck in. She put her hand through the bars and held mine, and asked me in French, “Why are you doing these things?””

Levi’s eyes seem to cloud. He swallows thickly, and my fingers tighten around his.

“She sounded so… so pitying, even then, even when her pathetic excuse for a son had let her down so gravely. She ran her hand along mine, like… yeah, like you are now—”

I only catch the movement when he points it out. He smiles again, bittersweet.

“She told me she still loved me, and that she wouldn’t forsake me for anything. She gave me a damn good telling-off, too, I’ll admit I needed that. But she said - and this was what I couldn’t accept - she said I needed help.”

“Help?” I ask, my voice catching high in my throat.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I was a mess, Eren, psychologically and emotionally. Issy and Farlan’s deaths were a floodgate for a bunch of other things I’d been holding in since I was a toddler. I was cracking. I did need help, even though I didn’t want it. It was the last thing I wanted.”

I’m reminded of my first few visits to Petra, the way I’d kicked and screamed and protested with all my strength. A pang of deep empathy strikes my chest. “I know how that feels.”

“Mmm. Well, Maman paid my bail, just about, and it took me a good few years to pay that back to her. She took me home, fed me, switched my phone so I couldn’t contact any of my old gang. I hardly talked. At the time, I felt there was nothing left worth talking about. But then… then she got me my help.”

“Which was?”

“A young psychologist by the name of Erwin Smith.”

My mouth falls open as the pieces come together, and Levi chuckles.

“So that’s…”

“How I met Erwin? Yes, it was. I wasn’t so nice to him at first, you know. I was determined to do what I had to do to get ‘revenge’ on the world for the things that had happened to me. It took Erwin quite a long time to break through that, but… eventually, he did. He taught me that I couldn’t find peace in punishing others or myself, that I had to do what I could to work for a better world. It took a long time, but I eventually got back into work, did a few jobs in computing here and there. Got myself back on my feet, moved back to Trost and got in contact with an old friend.”

My eyes widen in recognition. “Hanji!”

“Yeah, you got it. We sorted out a living arrangement, and we had that going for about a year before I finally decided to reapply to college. It took me a while to get used to the idea of being back at ‘school’, so that’s why I stayed at home until January.”

Levi shrugs, looking over at me. He finally seems to relax a little. “So… then I met you. It took me five years and plenty of bullshit, but… I think it was worth it. With the money I saved up from my last jobs plus what I’m earning at The Barracks, I’ve got enough to pay my rent and support Maman. And now…”

He looks at me with such sensitivity I think my heart’s about to leap out of my chest.

“Now I have you too, Eren. I’m… I’m not so good with words, but you’re helping me in ways I didn’t think anyone could, so thank you.”

I grin at him, warmth blossoming in my chest. I give his hand a little squeeze, and he returns it. “You too. I’m so glad we met.”

“So am I.”

We slip into a comfortable silence for a few long moments, my eyes flitting to the window to watch the passing of trees and fields outside as we travel through the district. We must be over halfway there by now, and I’m surprised by how fast the journey’s going.

Levi pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps on it. He hums at something, and when I glance over I notice it’s a news article.

“Uh… Levi?” I murmur. There’s still some curiosity left, and it’s tugging at my mind like a child tugging on their mother’s coat.

“Yes? Are you okay?”

I nod, and my tongue swipes over my lower lip. “I was just… I was just thinking, you mentioned your mother a few times, and I—”

“Ah.”

Levi takes in a deep breath, and I’m quick to lift my other hand to stop him. “No, no, we don’t have to talk about that, either! If you don’t want to, it’s okay—”

Levi uses his free hand to lower mine back down to the basket in my lap, and smiles. “It’s alright, Eren. I’ll tell you this too.”

“Oh… okay.”

“My mother moved here with her family when she was a teenager. They didn’t have much money at all, and her father needed medical treatment they needed privately but couldn’t afford. He managed to get it, but he racked up unprecedented debts and her brother’s job couldn’t really cover it… you see, they couldn’t… speak English, not as well as people generally want to get a good-paying job. And before they moved to Sina, they ended up in Mitras. The area they called Chikagai, you know it?”

I know Mitras - it’s not that far from where my parents grew up - but I’ve only ever heard rumours about Chikagai, the red light district. Every city’s got a run-down area, but Chikagai…

“I know it. Only… only by word of mouth, though.”

Levi gives a dry laugh. “God, the look on your face. Says it all, really.”

I hadn’t realised I was pulling any particular expression, and I lower my head sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No,” says Levi, using his free hand to lift my chin. I can’t hide the heat rushing to my face. “No, Eren, I’m just messing with you. It’s okay. I know exactly what that hellhole was like, I lived in it for almost twelve years.”

He seems to wait for my confirmation to continue, and I give a slight nod.

“It wasn’t long until my mother was… approached, by some men, showering her with attention and words of praise she could barely understand. She understood their offer for money, though, and took it before she knew what was going on. That was… that was the first time she sold herself. She was fifteen.”

My eyes widen. My heart clenches hard in my chest, and my stomach gives a violent twist.

“She told me that it was the most degrading thing she’d ever endured, that she never truly understood what they were doing until months later. And yet they gave her almost a month’s worth of rent for one night, and when my mother came home her father was so happy she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. She just said she was out selling stuff second-hand.

“That’s the way it carried on for six months - she’d stand out in the town at night, and she’d be taken on by one man or another, and in return she’d get one hundred, one hundred and fifty… it wasn’t just paying the rent, it was paying _off_ the debt. Her father’s health was improving, and yet she had never felt so bad in her life.

“It was only when she ended up with pneumonia that winter that her brother got suspicious. He was always… incredibly protective of her, even when they faced situations he could do nothing about. He confronted her about it, and… well. He has his ways of getting the truth out. She told him, and they fought viciously. He threatened to kick her onto the street, to leave her there alone, but when the initial shock subsided he realised they needed the income to survive. So he kept her secret like that for two years.”

Levi pauses, and I can see him shift in his seat with discomfort. I’m uncomfortable too, but I grit my teeth behind my closed lips. I’m determined to hear him out. I need him to know he can rely on me to listen.

“It was the early spring when my mother realised someone had got her pregnant. It was then that she had to tell her father what had been happening, and… well, he was horrified, as you can probably imagine. He tried to cut my mother off from the men she was seeing, but she was desperate for money, and she didn’t want to terminate, so… she had her baby.”

“Was that you?”

Levi hums. “Yes. That was me.”

His admission makes my stomach flip again. I realise this means it’s highly unlikely Levi knows the identity of his father, or that he _wants_ to know - the product of the abuse and mistreatment of a girl who was barely older than a child. I take in a deep breath, trying to quell the anger simmering in my chest.

“So,” Levi continues, “We moved away from Chikagai when I was about six months old, but… one of the men who was previously selling my mother around discovered where we lived. He came to her door late at night and demanded an explanation out of her. When she refused to give any, he attacked her, and… well, he had a knife. Her brother stopped him, just, but she was left with scars all over her face, and…”

I see Levi’s throat tighten.

“She was blinded, Eren.”

I feel my own eyes start to sting, either in empathy or sorrow. I watch the shadows flicker over Levi’s face and cast his expression with darkness. “Oh, God, that’s terrible, Levi… fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs. He squeezes my hand again. “It’s alright, she’s alright. She never let it ruin her, she’d never let anything ruin her. The man was imprisoned, and Maman was given support by a women’s shelter while she recovered, along with English and Braille lessons. My grandfather passed when I was three, and from there my mother raised me mostly alone, when I was old enough to accommodate her disability. We moved to Sina. My uncle supported us financially until I was sixteen, and came to visit every so often. I never liked him overmuch, Eren, he was always so… abrasive. We’re estranged from him now, of course, the picky bastard. Had some problem or other with my Maman.”

I nod. I wonder what kind of man this uncle could be - whether he shared anything with Levi, too.

“So… when we get there, be aware that she may touch you to sense what you ‘look’ like. And… there are a lot of scars on her face, but don’t be frightened, alright? She is the most beautiful woman alive, I can assure you. And, oh, Eren—”

“Yeah?”

“Her name’s Kuchel.”

The bus pulls in at the main station in Sina. The rain’s stopped, and we step out into patched sunlight. It’s a short walk to the street where Levi tells me Kuchel lives, and my heart bubbles with anticipation at the thought of meeting her. I wonder if she’ll like me.

We reach the door, and Levi delves into his pocket for a key. Before he twists it in the lock, he looks over at me and smiles.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

———  
Information to Disclose;  
The name ‘Levi’ originates from the Bible, and means ‘joined in harmony’ - Levi represented one of the twelve Tribes of Israel. The name Kuchel has ambiguous roots, but may also be from ancient Hebrew.  
———


End file.
